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THE    LOST    TALES 


OF 


MILETUS. 


THE      LOST     TALE  S 


OF 


MILETUS. 


BY   THE    RIGHT    HON. 


SIR  EDWARD  BULWER  LYTTON,  BART.,  M.R 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER     AND     BROTHERS,     PUBLISHERS. 

1866. 


S    9 


PR 
L9^ 


CO  N  TE N  TS. 


PAGE 


The  Secret  Way    .         .         .         .         -15 

Death  and  Sisyphus      .         .         .         .       57 

Corinna ;  or,  the  Grotto  of  Pan  at  Ephe- 

stis  ......       85 

The  Fate  of  Gate  has     .         .         .         .97 

The  Oread'' s  Son:   a  Legend  of  Sicily  .     105 
The  Wife  of  Miletus     .         .         .         .135 

Bridals  in  the  Spirit  Land  .         .         -151 
Gydippe ;   or,  the  Apple  .         .         .         .159 


J.- 


PREFACE. 


'npIME  has  spared  no  remains,  in  their  original 
form,  of  tliose  famous  Tales  of  Miletus,  which 
are  generally  considered  to  be  the  remote  progen- 
itors of  the  modern  Novel.  The  strongest  presump- 
tion in  favour  of  their  merit  rests  on  the  evidence  of 
the  popularity  they  enjoyed  both  among  Greeks  and 
Romans  in  times  when  the  imaginative  literature  of 
either  people  was  at  its  highest  point  of  cultivation. 
As  to  the  materials  which  they  employed  for  interest 
or  amusement,  we  are  not  without  means  of  reasona- 
ble conjecture.  Parthenius,  a  poet,  probably  of  Nicsa 
(though  his  birthplace  has  been  called  in  dispute),  who 
enjoyed  a  considerable  reputation  in  the  Augustan  Age, 
and  had  the  honour  to  teach  Virgil  Greek,  has  be- 
queathed to  us  a  collection  of  short  love-stories  com- 
piled from  older  and  more  elaborate  legends.  In 
making  this  collection  he  could  scarcely  fail  to  have 
had  recourse  to  sources  so  popular  as  the  fictions  of 
Miletus.     Whatever  might  have  been  the  gifts   of  Par- 


viii  Preface. 

thenius  as  a  poet,  he  wastes  none  of  them  on  his  task 
of  compiler.  He  contents  himself  with  giving  the  brief- 
est possible  outline  of  stories  that  were  then  in  pop- 
ular circulation,  carefully  divesting  them  of  any  orna- 
ment of  fancy  or  elegance  of  style.  His  work,  dedicated 
to  the  Latin  poet,  Gallus,  seems  designed  to  suggest, 
from  the  themes  illustrated  by  old  tale-tellers,  hints  to 
the  imitation  or  invention  of  later  poets.  And,  indeed, 
Parthenius  himself  states  that  it  was  for  such  uses  to 
Gallus  that  his  book  was  composed.  But  what  stories, 
thus  reduced  to  the  mere  ashes  of  their  pristine  form, 
might  have  been  when  they  took  life  and  glow  from  the 
art  of  the  practised  tale-teller,  the  yet  extant  and  ani- 
mated romance  of  '  The  Golden  Ass,'  by  Apuleius,  may 
enable  us  to  guess.  For  though  that  romance,  as  well  as 
the  story  of  the  '  Ass'  by  Lucian,  is  generally  supposed 
to  have  been  borrowed  from  the  earlier  work  of  Lucius 
of  Patra,  Apuleius  implies  diat  his  manner  of  telling  it  is 
agreeable  to  that  of  the  fictions  most  in  vogue  in  his  time, 
which  were  certainly  the  Milesian  Fables,  or  those  which 
the  Sybarites  imitated  from  that  original.  And  if  in 
'The  Golden  Ass'  we  may  really  trace  a  distinguishable 
vestige  of  the  manner  in  which  the  Milesian  tale-tellers 
diversified  and  adorned  their  fables,  they  must  have 
ranged  through  a  variety  of  interest  little  less  extensive 
than  that  in  which  the  novelists  of  our  day  display  the 


Preface.  ix 

versatility  of  their  genius, — embracing  lively  satire,  prodi- 
gal fancy,  and  stirring  adventure. 

Out  of  such  indications  of  the  character  and  genius 
of  the  lost  Milesian  Fables,  and  from  the  remnants  of 
myth  and  tale  once  in  popular  favour,  which  may  be 
found,  not  only  in  such  repertories  of  ancient  legend 
as  those  of  ApoUodorus  and  Conon,  but  scattered 
throughout  the  Scholiasts  or  in  the  pages  of  Pau- 
sanias  and  Athenaeus,  I  have  endeavoured  to  weave 
together  a  few  stories  that  may  serve  as  feeble  speci- 
mens of  the  various  kinds  of  subject  in  which  these 
ancestral  tale-tellers  may  have  exercised  their  faculties 
of  invention.  I  have  selected  from  Hellenic  myths  those 
in  which  the  ground  is  not  preoccupied,  by  the  great 
poets  of  antiquity,  in  works  yet  extant ;  and  which, 
therefore,  may  not  be  without  the  attraction  of  novelty 
to  the  general  reader.  In  this  selection  I  have  avoid- 
ed, of  course,  any  of  the  more  licentious  themes,  to 
which,  it  is  to  be  feared,  the  Boccacios  of  Miletus  some- 
times stooped  their  genius ;  while  I  have  endeavoured 
to  take  subjects  which  depended  for  the  popularity  they 
once  enjoyed  on  elements  congenial  to  art  in  every  land 
and  age  ;  subjects  readily  lending  themselves  to  narra- 
tive construction  or  dramatic  situation,  and  capable  of 
that  degree  of  human  interest  which  is  essential  to  the 
successful  employment  of  all  the  more  fanciful  agencies 
of  wonder. 


X  Preface. 

I  do  not,  however,  assume  the  tales  herein  contained 
to  be  told  in  that  primitive  form  of  Milesian  fiction  of 
which  we  can  only  conjecturally  trace  the  vestige.  I 
have  rather  sought  to  place  the  myths  upon  which  they 
are  founded  at  that  point  of  view  from  which  they  would 
have  appeared  to  contemporaries  of  Apuleius  in  whom 
the  vestige  of  Milesian  fable  must  be  principally  ex- 
plored ; — a  period  during  which  stories  derived  from 
heathen  myths  passed,  in  re-narrating,  through  minds  in 
which  what  is  called  the  modern  sentiment,  more  or  less 
perceptibly,  infused  itself  I  have  no  doubt  that  the 
lovely  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  which  forms  the  most 
poetical  portion  of '  The  Golden  Ass,'  is  of  much  remoter 
antiquity  than  the  time  of  Apuleius ;  but  the  modern 
sentiment  which  delights  in  under  currents  of  thought, 
and  does  not  satisfy  itself  with  modes  of  art  wholly  sen- 
suous, prevails  in  Apuleius's  treatment  of  the  story,  and 
could  not  have  been  breathed  into  the  fiction  by  any  one 
who  had  not  imbibed  the  spirit  either  of  Christianity  or 
of  the  later  Platonists.  In  regarding,  therefore,  these  fic- 
tions as  if  they  were  composed  not  by  a  contemporary  of 
Sophocles  nor  even  of  Ovid,  but  by  a  contemporary  of 
Apuleius,  or  of  one  of  his  less  gifted  successors  in  the 
revival  or  re-adaptation  of  Greek  romance,  the  author 
gains  this  advantage  :  the  main  difficult}^  in  the  treat- 
ment   of  classic    myths   by   a    modern    writer  is    mate- 


Preface.  xi 

rially  lessened,  if  not  wholly  removed :  for  if  the 
modern  sentiment  sometimes  appears  in  the  intima- 
tion of  truths  which  underlie  all  fiction,  it  ceases  to 
be  an  anaclironism,  and  is  critically  appropriate  to 
the  period  assumed  for  the  composition  of  the  story ; 
—  just  as  the  mode  in  which  Apuleius  platonizes 
the  tale  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  is  proper  to  the  time 
in  which  he  lived,  and  the  influences  to  which  his 
imagination  was  subjected. 

I  must  add  a  few  words  as  to  the  form  in  which  these 
narratives  are  cast.  Although  it  is  clear  that  the  Milesian 
Tales  were  for  the  most  part  told  in  prose,  yet  it  appears 
that  Aristides,  the  most  distinguished  author  of  those  tales 
whose  name  has  come  down  to  us,  told  at  least  some  of 
his  stories  in  verse.  Dunlop,  in  the  '  History  of  Fiction,' 
quotes  verses  from  Ovid  which  seem  to  decide  that  ques- 
tion— 

Junxit  Aristides  Milesia  carmina  secum, 
Pulsus  Aristides  nee  taraen  urbe  sua  est. 

And  the  myths  I  have  selected  are  essentially  poetic,  and 
almost  necessarily  demand  that  license  for  fancy  to  which 
the  emplo^nnent  of  rhythm  allures  the  sanction  of  the 
reader,  while  it  obtains  his  more  ductile  assent  to  the  ma- 
chinery and  illusions  of  a  class  of  fiction  associated  in  his 
mind  not  with  novelists,  but  poets. 

I  have  therefore  adopted  for  the  stories  contained  in 


xii  '  Preface, 

this  volume  forms  of  poetic  rhythm  ;  and  the  character 
of  the    subjects    treated  seemed  to   me   favourable    for 
an    experiment   which  I  have  long    cherished  a    desire 
to  adventure,  viz.  that  of  new  combinations  of  blank  or 
rhymeless  metre,  composed  not  in  lines  of  arbitrary  length 
and  modulation  (of  which  we  have  a  few  illustrious  ex- 
amples), but  in  the  regularity  and  compactness  of  uni- 
foHB  stanza,  constructed  upon  principles  of  rhythm  very 
simple  in  themselves,  but  which,  so  far  as  I  am  aware, 
have  not  been  hitherto  adopted,  at  least  for  narrative  pur- 
, poses.     If  the  metres  invented  for  the  following  poems 
were  partially  suggested  by,  they  are  not  imitated  from, 
metres  in  use  among  the  ancients.     They  are  modes  of 
rhythm  in  conformity  with  our  own  associations  of  pro- 
sodiacal  arrangement ;  humbly  following  in  such  attempt, 
if  I  may  say  so,  with  great  reverence,  the   example   set 
to  us  by  Milton,  who   in   his   rhymeless   translation   of 
Horace's  Ode  to  Pyrrha  aimed  at  no  imitation   of  the 
*  dactylic  dance'  of  the  Horatian  stanza  (especially  in  the 
first  two  lines),  but  rather  at  such  rhythmical  combina- 
tions   as   might   transfer   to    a   measure  wholly  English 
in    construction,   the    elegant    terseness    of   the    Latin 
original.     In    fact,  even   if  the   strophic   metres   of  the 
ancients   could  be   faithfully   rendered  into   the  English 
language,  and  with  a  harmony  agreeable  to  the  English 
ear,  we  may  reasonably  doubt  if  they  would  be  suitable 


Preface.  xiii 

to  narrative  purposes,  since  there  is,  I  believe,  no  in- 
stance extant  or  recorded,  in  Greek  or  Roman  literature, 
in  which  such  metres  were  so  employed — except  epi- 
sodically, as  Horace  treats  the  story  of  Europa  in  the 
Ode  to  Galatea.  It  may  be  asked  why,  in  departing 
from  the  usual  mechanism  of  our  rhymeless  metre,  and 
acknowledging  some  obligation  to  classic  rhythm,  I  did 
not  resort  to  the  forms  of  hexameter,  or  alternate 
hexameter  and  pentameter ;  for  the  adoption  of  which 
I  might  have  sheltered  myself  behind  the  authority  of 
writers  so  eminent,  whether  in  the  English  language  or 
the  German.  Certainly  I  do  not  share  in  the  objections 
which  some  critics  of  no  mean  rank  have  made  to  the 
adaptation  of  those  measures  to  modern  languages  in 
which  it  is  impossible  to  preserve  the  laws  of  quantit}' 
that  associations  derived  from  the  originals  are  said,  I 
think  erroneously,  to  demand.  For  certain  kinds  of  po- 
etry, the  hexameter  especially  seems  to  me  admirably 
suited  when  in  the  hands  of  a  master.  The  time  has 
not,  perhaps,  yet  come  to  decide  the  dispute  whether 
'  Evangeline'  would  have  gained  or  lost  in  beauty  had 
it  been  composed  in  a  different  measure,  but  most  men 
of  taste  who  have  read  the  '  Herman  and  Dorothea'  of 
Goethe  will  allow,  that  in  any  other  metre  the  poem 
could  scarcely  have  had  the  same  patriarchal  charm,  and 
no  man  of  taste  who  has  read  the  noble  translation  of  that 


xiv  Preface. 

poem  by  Dr.  Whewell  will  venture  to  assert  that  in  any 
other  metre  the  spirit  of  the  original  could  have  been  as 
faithfully  preserved.  But  neither  the  hexameter  nor  the 
alternate  hexameter  and  pentameter  would  be  appropri- 
ate to  my  mode  of  treating  these  stories,  in  which,  for 
the  most  part,  I  have  sought  to  bring  out  dramatic 
rather  than  epic  or  elegiac  elements  of  interest,  not 
without  aim  at  that  lyrical  brevity  and  compression  of 
incident  and  description  which  is  less  easily  attainable 
in  the  metres  referred  to  than  in  composite  measures  of 
shorter  compass  and  more  varied  caesura.  And  for  the 
rest,  my  object  has  been,  not  to  attempt  that  which  has 
been  already  done  far  better  than  I  could  hope  to  do  it, 
but  rather  to  suggest  new  combinations  of  sound  in  our 
native  language  without  inviting  any  comparison  with 
rhythms  in  the  dead  languages,  from  which  hints  for 
measures  purely  English  have,  indeed,  been  borrowed,  but 
of  which  direct  imitation  has  been  carefully  shunned. 

If  I  have  been  somewhat  prolix  in  these  preliminary 
remarks^  my  excuse  must  be  found  in  the  desire  I  feel 
to  bespeak  candid  attention  to  an  experiment  novel  in 
conception  and  form,  and  therefore  liable  to  many  faults 
which  those  who  would  repeat  it  with  more  success  may 
readily  detect  and  avoid. 

London,  Dec.  :86s. 


THE    SECRET    WAY, 


The  very  striking  legend  which  suggests  the  following  poem  is  found  in 
Athenaus,  book  xiii.  c.  35.  It  is  there  given  as  a  quotation  from  the  '  History 
of  Alexander,  by  Chares  of  Mitylene.'  The  author  adds,  that  'the  story  is  often 
told  by  the  barbarians  who  dwell  in  Asia,  and  is  exceedingly  admired ;  and  they 
have  painted  representations  of  the  story  in  their  temples  and  palaces,  and  also 
in  their  private  houses.'  In  constructing  the  plot  of  the  poem,  I  have  made 
some  variations  in  incident  and  dhioucmetit  from  the  meagre  outlines  of  the  old 
romance  prescribed  in  Athensus,  with  a  view  of  heightening  the  interest  which 
springs  from  the  groundwork  of  the  legend.  I  should  add  that  the  name  of 
the  Scythian  king's  daughter  is  changed  from  Odatis,  which,  for  narrative  pur-  ■ 
pose,  a  little  too  nearly  resembles  that  of  her  father,  Omartes  —  to  Argiope  :  a 
name  more  Hellenic  it  is  true,  but  it  may  be  reasonably  doubted  whether  that 
of  Odatis  be  more  genuinely  Scjlhian.  For  the  sake  of  euphony,  the  name 
of  the  Persian  Prince  is  softened  from  Zariadres  to  Zariades.  This  personage 
is  said  by  the  author  whom  Athenaeus  quotes  to  have  been  the  brother  of 
Hystaspes,  and  to  have  held  dominion  over  the  country  from  above  the  Caspian 
Gates  to  the  river  Tanais  (the  modem  Don).  Assuming  that  he  existed  historical- 
ly, and  was  the  brother  of  Hystaspes  and  uncle  to  Darius  I.,  he  would  have  held 
the  dominions  assigned  to  him,  as  a  satrap  under  Cambyses,  not  as  an  independent 
sovereign.  But  in  a  romance  of  this  kind,  it  would  be  hypercritical,  indeed,  to 
demand  strict  historical  accuracy.  Although  the  hero  of  the  legend  would  have 
been,  as  described,  of  purely  Persian  origin  (a  royal  Achxmenian),  and  the  peo- 
ple subjected  to  him  would  not  have  belonged  to  Media  proper,  in  the  poem 
he  is  sometimes  called  the  Mede,  and  his  people  Medes,  according  to  a  usage 
sufficiently  common  among  Greek  writers  when  speaking  generally  of  the  rulers 
and  people  of  the  great  Persian  Empire.  It  may  scarcely  be  worth  while  to 
observe  that  though  in  subsequent  tales  where  the  Hellenic  deities  are  more  or 
less  prominently  introduced  or  referred  to,  their  Hellenic  names  are  assigned  to 
them,  yet  in  the  passing  allusions  made  in  this  poem  to  the  God  of  War  or 
the  Goddess  of  Morning,  it  was  judged  more  agreeable  to  the  general  reader  to 
designate  those  deities  by  the  familiar  names  of  Mars  and  Aurora  rather  than 
by  the  Greek  appellations  of  Ares  and  Eos. 


/^MARTES,  King  of  the  wide  plains  which,  north 
Of  Tanais,  pasture  steeds  for  Scythian  Mars, 
Forsook  the  simple  ways 

And  Nomad  tents  of  his  unconquered  fathers ; 

And  in  the  fashion  of  the  neighbouring  Medes, 
Built  a  great  city  girt  with  moat  and  wall. 
And  in  the  midst  thereof 

A  regal  palace  dwarfing  piles  in  Susa, 

With  vast  foundations  rooted  into  earth, 
And  crested  summits  soaring  into  Heaven, 
And  gates  of  triple  brass. 

Siege-proof  as  portals  welded  by  the  Cyclops. 

One  day  Omartes,  in  his  pride  of  heart, 
Led  his  High  Priest,  Teleutias,  thro'  his  halls. 
And  chilled  by  frigid  looks, 
■\Vhen  counting  on  warm  praise,  asked '  What  is  wanting  ? 


1 8  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Where  is  beheld  the  palace  of  a  king, 
So  stored  with  all  that  doth  a  king  beseem  ; 
The  woofs  of  Phrygian  looms, 

The  gold  of  Colchis,  and  the  pearls  of  Ormus, 


'  Couches  of  ivory  sent  from  farthest  Ind, 
Sidonian  crystal,  and  Corinthian  bronze, 
Egypt's  vast  symbol  gods. 

And  those  imagined  into  men  by  Hellas  ; 

'  Stored  not  in  tents  that  tremble  to  a  gale. 
But  chambers  firm-based  as  the  Pyramids, 
And  breaking  into  spray 

The  surge  of  Time,  as  Gades  breaks  the  ocean  ?' 


'  Nor  thou  nor  I  the  worth  of  these  things  now 
Can  judge  ;  we  stand  too  near  them,'  said  the  sage. 
None  till  they  reach  the  tomb 

Scan  with  just  eye  the  treasures  of  the  palace. 


*  But  for  thy  building — as  we  speak,  I  feel 
Thro'  all  the  crannies  pierce  an  icy  wind 
More  bitter  than  the  blasts 
Which  howled  without  the  tents  of  thy  rude  fathers. 


The  Secret  Way,  19 

'  Thou  hast  forgot  to  bid  thy  masons  close 
The  chinks  of  stone  against  Calamity.' 
The  sage  inclined  his  brow, 

Shivered,  and,  parting,  round  him  wrapt  his  mantle. 


The  King  turned,  thoughtful,  to  a  favourite  chief, 
The  rudest  champion  of  the  polished  change 
That  fixed  the  wain-borne  homes 

Of  the  wild  Scythian,  and  encamped  a  city ; 

'  Heard'st  thou  the  Sage,  brave  Seuthes  ?'  asked  the  King. 
'  Yea,  the  priest  deemed  thy  treasures  insecure. 
And  fain  would  see  them  safe 

In  his  own  temple.'     The  King  smiled  on  Seuthes. 

Unto  this  Scythian  monarch's  nuptial  bed 
But  one  fair  girl,  Argiope,  was  born  : 
For  whom  no  earthly  throne 

Soared  from  the  level  of  his  fond  ambition. 

To  her,  indeed,  had  Aphrodite  given 
Beauty,  that  royalty  which  subjects  kings. 
Sweet  with  unconscious  charm. 

And  modest  as  the  youngest  of  the  Graces. 


20  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Men  blest  her  when  she  moved  before  their  eyes 
Shame-faced,  as  bkishing  to  be  born  so  fair, 
Mild  as  that  child  of  gods 

Violet-crowned  Athens  hallowing  named  '  Pity.'* 

Now,  of  a  sudden,  over  that  bright  face 
There  fell  the  shadow  of  some  troubled  thought. 
As  cloud,  from  purest  dews 

Updrawn,  makes  sorrowful  a  star  in  heaven  : 


And  as  a  nightingale  that  having  heard 
A  perfect  music  from  some  master's  lyre, 
Steals  into  coverts  lone. 

With  her  own  melodies  no  more  contented. 


But  haunted  by  the  strain,  till  then  unknown, 
Seeks  to  reusing  it  back,  herself  to  charm. 
Seeks  still  and  ever  fails, 

Missing  the  key-note  which  unlocks  the  music  ; 


"  '  In  the  market-place  of  the  Athenians  is  an  altar  of  Pity,  which  divinity,  as 
she  is,  above  all  others,  beneficent  to  human  life  and  to  the  mutability  of  human 
affairs,  is  alone  of  all  the  Greeks  reverenced  by  the  Athenians.' — Pausanias;  At- 
tics, c.  xvii. 


The  Secret  Way.  21 

So,  from  her  former  pastimes  in  the  choir 
Of  comrade  virgins,  stole  Argiope, 
Lone  amid  summer  leaves 

Brooding  that  thought  which  was  her  joy  and  trouble. 

The  king  discerned  the  change  in  his  fair  child, 
And  questioned  oft,  yet  could  not  learn  the  cause ; 
The  sunny  bridge  between 

The  lip  and  heart  which  childhood  builds  was  broken. 

Not  more  Aurora,  stealing  into  heaven. 
Conceals  the  mystic  treasures  of  the  deep 
Whence  with  chaste  blush  she  comes, 

Than  virgin  bosoms  guard  their  earliest  secret. 

Omartes  sought  the  priest,  to  whose  wise  heart 
So  dear  the  maiden,  he  was  wont  to  say 
That  grains  of  crackling  salt 

From  her  pure  hand,  upon  the  altar  sprinkled. 

Sent  up  a  flame  to  loftier  heights  in  heaven 
Than  that  which  rolled  from  hecatombs  in  smoke. 
'  King,'  said  the  musing  seer, 

'  Behold,  the  woodbine,  opening  infant  blossoms. 


2  2  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Perfumes  the  bank  whose  herbage  hems  it  round, 
From  its  own  birthplace  drinking  in  dehght ; 
Later,  its  instinct  stirs  ; 

Fain  would  it  climb — to  climb  forbidden,  creepeth, 

'  Its  lot  obeys  its  yearning  to  ent\vine  ; 
Around  the  oak  it  weaves  a  world  of  flowers ; 
Or,  listless  drooping,  trails 

Dejected  tendrils  lost  mid  weed  and  brier. 

'  There  needs  no  construing  to  my  parable  : 
As  is  the  woodbine's,  so  the  woman's  life : 
Look  round  the  forest  kings. 

And  to  the  stateliest  wed  thy  royal  blossom.' 

Sharp  is  a  father's  pang  when  comes  the  hour 
In  which  his  love  contents  his  child  no  more. 
And  the  sweet  wonted  smile 

Fades  from  his  hearthstone  to  rejoice  a  stranger's. 

But  soon  from  parent  love  dies  thought  of  self; 
Omartes,  looking  round  the  Lords  of  earth, 
In  young  Zariades 

Singled  the  worthiest  of  his  peerless  daughter ; 


The  Secret  Way.  23 

Scion  of  that  illustrious  hero-stem, 
Which  in  great  Cyrus  bore  the  loftiest  flower 
Purpled  by  Orient  suns  ; 

Stretched  his  vast  satrapies,  engulphing  kingdoms, 

From  tranquil  jDalmgroves  fringing  Caspian  waves, 
To  the  bleak  marge  of  stormy  Tanais ; 
On  Scythia  bordering  thus, 

No  foe  so  dread,  and  no  ally  so  potent. 

Perilous  boundai-y-rights  by  Media  claimed 
O'er  that  great  stream  which,  laving  Scythian  plains, 
Europe  from  Asia  guards. 

The  Persian  Prince,  in  wedding  Scythia's  daughter, 

Might  well  resign,  in  pledge  of  lasting  peace. 
But  ill  the  project  of  Omartes  pleased 
His  warlike  free-born  chiefs, 

And  ill  the  wilder  tribes  of  his  fierce  people  ; 

For  Scyth  and  Mede  had  long  been  as  those  winds 
Whose  very  meeting  in  itself  is  storm. 
Yet  the  King's  will  prevailed, 

Confirmed,  when  wavering,  by  his  trusted  Seuthes. 


24  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

He,  the  fierce  leader  of  the  fiercest  horde, 
Won  from  the  wild  by  greed  of  gain  and  power, 
Stood  on  the  bound  betsveen 

Man  social  and  man  savage,  dark  and  massive 


So  nisfored  was  he  that  men  deemed  him  true, 
So  secret  was  he  that  men  deemed  him  wise, 
And  he  had  grown  so  great. 

The  throne  was  lost  behind  the  subject's  shadow. 

In  the  advice  he  whispered  to  the  king 
He  laid  the  key-stone  of  ambitious  hope. 
This  marriage  with  the  Mede 

Would  leave  to  heirs  remote  the  Scythian  kingdom, 


Sow  in  men's  minds  vague  fears  of  foreign  rule. 
Which  might,  if  cultured,  spring  to  armed  revolt. 
In  armed  revolt  how  oft 

Kings  disappear,  and  none  dare  call  it  murder. 

And  when  a  crown  falls  bloodstained  in  the  dust. 
The  strong  man  standing  nearest  to  its  fall 
Takes  it  and  crowns  himself; 

And  heirs  remote  are  swept  from  earth  as  rebels. 


The  Secret  Way.  25 

Of  peace  and  marriage-rites  thus  dreamed  the  king ; 
Of  graves  and  thrones  the  traitor ;  while  the  fume 
From  altars,  loud  with  prayer 

To  speed  the  Scythian  envoys,  darkened  heaven. 

A  hardy  prince  was  young  Zariades, 
Scorning  the  luxuries  of  the  loose-robed  Mede, 
Cast  in  the  antique  mould 
Of  men  whose  teaching  thewed  the  soul  of  Cyrus. 

To  ride,  to  draw  the  bow,  to  speak  the  truth, 
Sufficed  to  Cyrvis,'  said  the  prince,  when  child. 
'  Astyages  knew  more' 

Answered  the  Magi — 'Yes-, and  lost  his  kingdoms.' 

Yet  there  was  in  this  prince  the  eager  mind 
Which  needs  must  think,  and  therefore  needs  must  learn  ; 
Natures,  whose  roots  strike  deep. 

Clear  their  own  way,  and  win  to  light  in  growing. 

His  that  rare  beauty  which  both  charms  and  awes 
The  popular  eye ;  his  the  life-gladdening  smile  j 
His  the  death-dooming  frown  ; 

That  which  he  would  he  could ; — men  loved  and  feared  him. 

B 


26  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Now  of  a  sudden  over  this  grand  brow 
There  fell  the  gloom  of  some  unquiet  thought, 
As  when  the  south  wind  sweeps 

Sunshine  from  Hadria  in  a  noon  of  summer 


And  as  a  stag,  supreme  among  the  herd, 
With  lifted  crest  inhaling  lusty  air, 
Smit  by  a  shaft  from  far, 

Deserts  his  lordly  range  amidst  the  pasture, 

And  thro'  dim.  woodlands  with  drooped  antlers  creeps 
To  the  cool  marge  of  rush-grown  watersprings  ; 
So  from  all  former  sports, 

Contest,  or  converse  with  once-loved  companions, 

Stole  the  young  prince  through  unfrequented  groves, 
To  gaze  with  listless  eyes  on  lonely  streams. 
All,  wondering,  marked  the  change. 

None  dared  to  question  :  he  had  no  fond  father. 

Now,  in  the  thick  of  this  his  altered  mood. 
Arrived  the  envoys  of  the  Scythian  king. 
Reluctant  audience  found. 

And  spoke  to  ears  displeased  their  sovereign's  message. 


The  Secret  Way.  27 

'  Omartes  greets  Zariades  the  Mede  : 
Between  the  reahiis  of  both  there  rolls  a  river 
Inviolate  to  the  Scyth, 

Free  to  no  keels  but  those  the  Scythian  charters  : 

'  Yet  have  thy  subjects  outraged  oft  its  waves, 
And  pirate  foray  on  our  northern  banks 
Ravaged  the  flocks  and  herds, 
Till  Scythian  riders  ask  "  Why  sleeps  the  Ruler  ?" 

'  Still,  loth  to  fan  the  sparks  which  leap  to  flame 
Reddening  the  nations,  from  the  breath  of  kings  ; 
We  have  not  sought  thy  throne 

With  tales  of  injuiy  or  appeals  to  justice  ; 

'  But  searching  in  our  inmost  heart  to  find 
The  gentlest  bond  wherewith  to  link  our  realms. 
Make  Scyth  and  Mede  akin, 

By  household  ties  their  royal  chiefs  uniting, 

'  We  strip  our  crown  of  its  most  precious  gem, 
Proffering  to  thee  our  child  Argiope  : 
So  let  the  Median  Queen 

Be  the  mild  guardian  of  the  Scythian  river.' 


28  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Lifting  his  brow,  replied  Zariades  : 
'  Great  rivers  are  the  highways  of  the  world  : 
The  Tanais  laves  my  shores  \ 

For  those  who  dwell  upon  my  shores  I  claim  it. 

'  If  pirates  land  on  either  side  for  prey, 
My  banks  grow  herdsmen  who  can  guard  their  herds  ; 
Take,  in  these  words,  reply 

To  all  complaints  that  threaten  Median  subjects. 

*  But  for  the  gentler  phrase  wherewith  your  king 
Stoops  to  a  proffer,  yet  implies  command, 
I  pray  you,  in  return, 

To  give  such  thanks  as  soften  most  refusal. 

'  Thanks  are  a  language  kings  are  born  to  hear, 
But  speak  not  glibly  till  they  near  their  fall. 
To  guard  his  Scythian  realm, 

On  the  Mede's  throne  the  Scyth  would  place  his  daughter 

'  I  should  deceive  him  if  I  said  "  Agreed." 
No  throne,  methinks,  hath  room  for  more  than  one  ; 
Where  a  Queen's  lips  decide 

Or  peace  or  war,  she  slays  the  king  her  husband. 


The  Secret  Way.  29 

'  Thus  thinking,  did  I  wed  diis  Scythian  maid, 
It  were  no  marriage  between  Mede  and  Scyth ; 
Nor  wrong  I  unseen  charms  ; 

Love,  we  are  told,  comes  like  the  wind  from  heaven 


'  Not  at  our  bidding,  but  its  own  free  will. 
And  so  depart — and  pardon  my  plain  speech. 
That  which  I  think  I  say. 

Offending  oft-times,  but  deceiving  never.' 

So  he  dismissed  them,  if  with  churlish  words, 
With  royal  presents,  and  to  festal  pomps. 
But  one,  by  Median  law 

Nearest  his  throne,  the  chief  priest  of  the  Magi, 

Having  heard  all  with  not  unprescient  fears, 
Followed  the  Prince  and  urged  recall  of  words 
Which,  sent  from  king  to  king, 
Are  fraughtwith  dragon  seeds,  whose  growth  is  armies. 

Mute,  as  if  musing  in  himself,  the  Prince 
Heard  the  wise  counsel  to  its  warning  close. 
Then,  with  a  gloomy  look. 

Gazed  on  the  reader  of  the  stars,  and  answered — 


30  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Leave  thou  to  me  that  which  to  me  belongs ; 
My  people  need  the  Tanais  for  their  rafts ; 
Or  soon  or  late  that  need 

Strings  the  Mede's  bow,  and  mounts  the  Scythian  rider. 

'  Mage, I  would  rluck  my  spirit  from  the  hold 
Of  a  strong  phantasy,  which,  night  and  day, 
Haunts  it,  unsinews  life, 

And  makes  my  heart  the  foe  of  my  own  reason. 

'  Perchance  in  war  the  gods  ordain  my  cure  ; 
And  courting  war,  I  to  myself  give  peace.' 
Startled  by  these  wild  words. 

The  Mage,  in  trust-alluring  arts  long-practised, 

Led  on  the  Prince  to  unfold  their  hidden  sense  ; 
And  having  bound  the  listener  by  the  oath 
Mage  never  broke,  to  hold 

Sacred  the  trust,  the  King  thus  told  his  trouble. 

'  Know  that  each  night  (thro'  three  revolving  moons) 
An  image  comes  before  me  in  a  dream  ; 
Ever  the  same  sweet  face, 

Lovely  as  that  which  blest  the  Carian's  slumber.* 

*  Tlie  reader  will  have  the  kindness  to  remember  in  this  and  a  subsequent  allu- 
sion by  Zariades  to  Greek  legend,  that  the  narrative  is  supposed  to  be  borrowed 
from  a  Milesian  tale-teller,  who  would  certainly  not  have  entertained  the  same 
scrapie  as  a  modern  novelist  in  assigning  familiarity  with  Hellenic  myths  to  a  Per- 
sian prince. 


The  Secret  Way.  31 

*  Nought  mid  the  dark-eyed  daughters  of  the  East, 
Nought  I  have  ever  seen  in  waking  hours, 
Rivals  in  charm  this  shape 

Which  hath  no  Ufe — unless  a  dream  hath  substance. 


'  But  never  yet  so  clearly  visible. 
Nor  with  such  joy  in  its  celestial  smile 
Hath  come  the  visitant, 

Making  a  temple  of  the  soul  it  hallows, 

'  As  in  the  last  night's  vision  ;  there  it  stooped 
Over  my  brow,  with  tresses  that  I  touched. 
With  love  in  bashflil  eyes. 

With  breath  whose  fragrance  lingered  yet  in  waking. 

'  And  balmed  the  morn,  as  when  a  dove,  that  brings 
Ambrosia  to  Olympus,  sheds  on  earth 
Drops  from  a  passing  wing  : 

Surely  the  vision  made  itself  thus  living 

*  To  test  my  boast,  that  truth  so  fills  this  soul 
It  could  not  lodge  a  falsehood  ev'n  in  dream  : 
Wonderest  thou,  Magian,  now, 

Why  I  refuse  to  wed  the  Scythian's  daughter  ? 


32  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus, 

*  And  if  I  thus  confide  to  thee  a  tale 
I  would  not  whisper  into  ears  profane, 
'Tis  that  where  reason  ends, 

Men  have  no  choice  between  the  Gods  and  Chaos. 


'  Ye  Magi  are  the  readers  of  the  stars, 
Versed  in  the  language  of  the  world  of  dreams  : 
"Wherefore  consult  thy  lore, 

And  tell  me  if  Earth  hold  a  mortal  maiden 

'  In  whom  my  nightly  vision  breathes  and  moves. 
If  not,  make  mine  such  talismans  and  spells, 
As  banish  from  the  soul 

Dreams  that  annul  its  longing  for  the  daylight.' 

Up  to  his  lofty  fire-tower  climbed  the  Mage, 
Explored  the  stars  and  drew  Chaldasan  schemes  ; 
Thrid  the  dark  maze  of  books 

Opening  on  voids  beyond  the  bounds  of  Nature  ; 

Placed  crj'stal  globes  in  hands  of  infants  pure  ; 
Invoked  the  demons  haunting  impious  graves ; 
And  all,  alas,  in  vain  ; 

The  dream,  adjured  against  itself  to  witness, 


The  Secret  Way.  33 

Refused  to  wander  from  the  gate  of  horn, 
To  stars,  scrolls,  crystals,  infants,  demons,  proof 
Foiled  of  diviner  lore 

The  Mage  resumed  his  wisdom  as  a  mortal ; 


And  since  no  Mage  can  own  his  science  fails, 
But  where  that  solves  not,  still  solution  finds. 
So  he  resought  the  King, 
Grave-browed  as  one  whose  brain  holds  Truth  new-captured: 

Saying,  '  O  King,  the  shape  thy  dreams  have  glassed 
Is  of  the  Colchian  Mother  of  the  Medes  ; 
When,  on  her  dragon  car, 

From  faithless  Jason  rose  sublime  Medea, 

'  Refuge  at  Athens  she  with  ^geus  found  ; 
To  him  espoused  she  bore  one  hero-son, 
Medus,  the  Sire  of  Medes  ; 

And  if  that  form  no  earthly  shape  resembles 

'  What  marvel  ?  for  her  beauty  witched  the  world, 
Ev'n  in  an  age  when  woman  lured  the  gods ; 
Retaining  yet  dread  powers 

(For  memories  die  not)  of  her  ancient  magic, 

B2 


34  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Her  spirit  lingers  in  tliese  Orient  airs, 
And  guards  the  children  of  her  latest  love, 
Thus,  hovering  over  thee, 

She  warms  thy  heart  to  love  in  her — those  children. 

'  As  in  her  presence  thou  didst  feel  thy  soul 
Lodged  in  a  temple,  so  the  Queen  commands 
That  thou  restore  the  fanes 

And  deck  the  altars  where  her  Medus  worshipped  : 

'  And  in  the  spirit-breath  which  balmed  the  morn 
Is  symbolized  the  incense  on  our  shrines, 
Which,  as  thou  renderest  here, 

Shall  waft  thee  after  death  to  the  Immortals. 

'  Seek,  then,  no  talisman  against  the  dream. 
Obey  its  mandates,  and  return  its  love ; 
So  shall  thy  reign  be  blest, 

And  in  Zariades  revive  a  Medus.' 

'  Friend,'  sighed  the  King,  '  albeit  I  needs  must  own 
All  dreams  mean  temples,  where  a  Mage  explains, 
Yet  when  a  young  man  dreams 

Of  decking  altars,  'tis  not  for  Medea.' 


The  Secret  Way.  35 

He  said  and  turned  to  lose  himself  in  groves, 
Shunning  the  sun.     In  wrath  against  the  stars 
The  Mage  resought  his  tower. 

And  that  same  day  went  back  the  Scythian  envoys. 

But  from  the  night  which  closed  upon  that  day, 
The  image  of  the  dream  began  to  fade, 
Fainter  and  paler  seen, 

With  saddened  face  and  outlines  veiled  in  vapour ; 

At  last  it  vanished  as  a  lingering  star 
Fades  on  Cithaeron  from  a  Maenad's  eyes. 
Mid  cymbal,  fife,  and  hom, 

When  sunrise  flashes  on  the  Car  of  Panthers. 

As  the  dream  fled,  broke  war  upon  the  land  : 
The  Scythian  hosts  had  crossed  the  Tanais. 
And,  where  the  dreamer  dreamed, 

An  angry  King  sur\^eyed  his  Asian  armies. 

Who  first  in  fault,  the  Scythian  or  the  Mede, 
Who  first  broke  compact,  or  transgressed  a  bound. 
Historic  scrolls  dispute 

As  Scyth  or  Mede  interprets  dreams  in  story. 


36  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Enough  for  war  when  two  brave  nations  touch, 
With  rancour  simmering  in  the  hearts  of  kings  ; 
War  is  the  child  of  cloud 

Oftentimes  stillest  just  before  the  thunder. 


The  armies  met  in  that  vast  plain  whereon 
The  Chaldee,  meting  out  the  earth,  became 
The  scholar  of  the  stars, — 

A  tombless  plain,  yet  has  it  buried  empires. 

At  first  the  Scythian  horsemen,  right  to  left, 
Broke  wings  by  native  Medes  outstretched  for  flight. 
But  in  the  central  host 

Stood  Persia's  sons,  the  mountain  race  of  Cyrus ; 

And  in  their  midst,  erect  in  golden  car 
With  looks  of  scorn,  Zariades  the  King ; 
And  at  his  trumpet  voice 

Steed  felt  as  man  that  now  began  the  battle. 

*  Up,  sons  of  Persia,  Median  women  fly  ; 
And  leave  the  field  to  us  whom  gods  made  men : 
The  Scythian  chases  well 

Yon  timorous  deer ;  now  let  him  front  the  lions.' 


The  Secret  Way.  37 

He  spoke,  and  light-touched  by  his  charioteer 
Rushed  his  white  steeds  down  the  quick-parted  lines  ; 
The  parted  lines  quick-closed, 

Following  that  car  as  after  lightning  follow 

The  hail  and  whirlwind  of  collected  storm  : 
The  Scyths  had  scattered  their  own  force  in  chase, 
As  torrents  split  in  rills 

The  giant  waves  whose  gathered  might  were  deluge ; 

And,  as  the  Scythian  strength  is  in  the  charge 
Of  its  fierce  riders,  so  that  charge,  misspent, 
Left  weak  the  ignobler  ranks, 

Fighting  on  foot ;  alert  in  raid  or  skirmish. 

And  skilled  in  weapons  striking  foes  from  far, 
But  all  untaught  to  front  with  levelled  spears, 
And  rampart-line  of  shields. 

The  serried  onslaught  of  converging  battle  : 

Wavering,  recoiling,  turning  oft,  they  fled  ; 
Omartes  was  not  with  them  to  uphold  ; 
Foremost  himself  had  rode 

Heading  the  charge  by  which  the  Medes  were  scattered ; 


38  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

And  when,  believing  victory  won,  he  turned 
His  bloody  reins  back  to  the  central  war. 
Behold, — a  cloud  of  dust. 

And  thro'  the  cloud  the  ruins  of  an  army ! 

At  sunset,  sole  king  on  that  plain,  reigned  Death. 
Far  off,  the  dust-cloud  rolled  ;  far  off,  behind 
A  dust-cloud  followed  fast ; 

The  hunted  and  the  hunter,  Flight  and  Havoc. 

With  the  scant  remnant  of  his  mighty  host 
(Many  who  'scaped  the  foe  forsook  their  chief 
For  plains  more  safe  than  walls). 

The  Scythian  King  repassed  his  brazen  portals. 

In  haste  he  sent  to  gather  fresh  recruits 
Among  the  fiercest  tribes  his  fathers  ruled, 
They  whom  a  woman  led 
When  to  her  feet  they  tossed  the  head  of  Cyrus. 

And  the  tribes  answered — '  Let  the  Scythian  King 
Return  repentant  to  old  Scythian  ways, 
And  laugh  with  us  at  foes. 
Wains  know  no  sieges — Freedom  moves  her  cities.' 


The  Secret  Way.  39 

Soon  came  the  Victor  with  his  Persian  guards, 
And  all  the  rallied  vengeance  of  his  Medes  ; 
One  night,  sprang  up  dread  camps 

With  lurid  watch-lights  circling  doomed  ramparts, 

As  hunters  round  the  wild  beasts  in  their  lair 
Marked  for  the  javelin,  wind  a  belt  of  fire. 
Omartes  scanned  his  walls 

And  said,  *  Ten  years  Troy  baffled  Agamemnon.' 

Yet  pile  up  walls,  out-topping  Babylon, 
Manned  foot  by  foot  with  sleepless  sentinels, 
And  to  and  fro  will  pass. 

Free  as  the  air  thro'  keyholes,  Love  and  Treason. 

Be  elsewhere  told  the  horrors  of  that  siege, 
The  desperate  sally,  slaughter,  and  repulse  ; 
Repelled  in  turn  the  foe, 

With  Titan  ladders  scaling  cloud-capt  bulwarks, 

Hurled  back  and  buried  under  rocks  heaved  down 
By  wrathful  hands  from  scatheless  battlements. 
With  words  of  holy  charm, 

Soothing  despair  and  leaving  resignation. 


40  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Mild  thro'  the  city  moved  Argiope, 
Pale  with  a  sorrow  too  divine  for  fear ; 
And  when,  at  morn  and  eve, 

She  bowed  her  meek  head  to  her  father's  blessinsr, 

Omartes  felt  as  if  the  righteous  gods 
Could  doom  no  altars  at  whose  foot  she  prayed. 
Only,  when  all  alone, 

Stole  from  her  lips  a  murmur  like  complaint, 

Shaped  in  these  words  :  '  Wert  thou,  then,  but  a  dream  ? 
Or  shall  I  see  thee  in  the  Happy  Fields  ?' 
Now  came  with  stony  eye 

The  livid  vanquisher  of  cities,  Famine  ; 

And  moved  to  pity  now,  the  Persian  sent 
Heralds  with  proffered  peace  on  terms  that  seem 
Gentle  to  Asian  kings. 

And  unendurable  to  Europe's  Freemen  ; 

'  I  from  thy  city  will  withdraw  my  hosts, 
And  leave  thy  people  to  their  chiefs  and  laws, 
Taking  from  all  thy  realm 

Nought  save  the  river,  which  I  make  my  border, 


The  Secret  Way.  41 

'  If  but,  in  homage  to  my  sovereign  throne, 
Thou  pay  this  petty  tribute  once  a  year ; 
Six  grains  of  Scythian  soil, 

One  urn  of  water  spared  from  Scythian  fountains.' 

And  the  Scyth  answered — '  Let  the  Mede  demand 
That  which  is  mine  to  give,  or  gold  or  life ; 
The  water  and  the  soil 

Are,  every  grain  and  every  drop,  my  country's  : 

'  And  no  man  hath  a  country  where  a  King 
Pays  tribute  to  another  for  his  crown.' 
And  at  this  stern  reply, 

The  Persian  doomed  to  fire  and  sword  the  city. 


Omartes  stood  within  his  palace  hall. 
And  by  his  side  Teleutias,  the  high  priest. 
'  And  rightly,'  said  the  King, 

'  Did  thy  prophetic  mind  rebuke  vain-glory. 

'  Lend  me  thy  mantle  now ;  I  feel  the  wind 
Pierce  through  the  crannies  of  the  thick-ribbed  stone.' 
'  No  wind  lasts  long,'  replied. 

With  soothing  voice,  the  hierarch.  '  Calm  and  tempest 


42  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Follow  each  other  in  the  outward  world, 
And  joy  and  sorrow  in  the  heart  of  man  : 
Wherefore  take  comfort  now, 

The  earth  and  water  of  the  Scyth  are  grateful, 

'  And  as  thou  hast,  inviolate  to  the  Scyth, 
His  country  saved,  that  country  yet  to  thee 
Stretches  out  chainless  arms, 

And  for  these  walls  gives  plains  that  mock  besiegers, 

'  Traversed  by  no  invader  save  the  storm, 
Nor  girt  by  watchfires  nearer  than  the  stars. 
Beneath  these  regal  halls 

Know  that  there  lies  a  road  which  leads  to  safety. 

*  For,  not  unprescient  of  the  present  ills. 

When  rose  thy  towers,  the  neighbours  of  the  cloud, 
I,  like  the  mole,  beneath, 

Work'd  path  secure  against  cloud-riving  thunder. 

*  Employing  ^thiops  skilled  not  in  our  tongue. 
Held  day  and  night  in  the  dark  pass  they  hewed  ; 

And  the  work  done,  sent  home  : 

So  the  dumb  earthworm  shares  alone  the  secret. 


The  Secret  Way.  43 

'  Lo,  upon  one  side  ends  the  ungviessed  road. 
There,  its  door  panelled  in  yon  far  recess, 
Where,  on  great  days  of  state, 

Oft  has  thy  throne  been  set  beneath  the  purple  ; 

'  The  outward  issue  opes  beyond  the  camp, 
'Mid  funeral  earth-mounds,*  skirting  widths  of  plain, 
Where  graze  the  fleetest  steeds. 

And  rove  the  bravest  riders  Scythia  nurtures — 

'  They  whom  thou  ne'er  couldst  lure  to  walls  of  stone. 
Nor  rouse  to  war,  save  for  their  own  free  soil. 
These  gained,  defy  the  foe ; 

Let  him  pursue,  and  space  itself  engulphs  him.' 

Omartes  answered — '  With  the  towers  I  built 
Must  I,  O  kind  adviser,  stand  or  fall. 
Kings  are  not  merely  men — 

Epochs  their  lives,  their  actions  the  world's  story. 

'  I  sought  to  wean  my  people  from  the  wild, 
To  centre  scattered  valours,  wasted  thoughts, 
Into  one  mind,  a  State  ; 

Failing  in  this,  my  life  as  king  has  perished  ; 


*  The  numerous  earth-mounds  or  tumuli  found  in  the  steppes  now  peopled  by 
the  Cossacks  of  the  Don  are  generally  supposed  to  be  the  memorials  of  an  extinct 
race  akin  to,  if  not  identical  with,  the  ancient  Scj'thiau. 


\ 


44  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  And  as  mere  man  I  should  disdain  to  live. 
Deemest  thou  now  I  could  go  back  content 
A  Scyth  among  the  Scyths  ? 
I  am  no  eaglet — I  have  borne  the  aegis. 

'  But  life,  as  life,  suffices  youth  for  joy. 
Young  plants  win  sunbeams,  shift  them  as  we  may. 
So  to  the  Nomad  tribes 

Lead  thou  their  Queen. — O  save,  ye  gods,  my  daughter ! 

The  king's  proud  head  bowed  o'er  the  hierarch's  breast. 
*  Not  unto  me  confide  that  precious  charge,' 
Replied  the  sweet-voiced  seer ; 

'  Thou  hast  a  choice  of  flight,  I  none.    Thou  choosest 

'  To  stand  or  fall,  as  stand  or  fall  thy  towers  ; 

Priests  may  not  choose ;  they  stand  or  fall  by  shrines. 
,      Thus  stand  we  both,  or  fall, 

Thou  by  the  throne,  and  I  beside  the  altar. 

'  But  to  thy  child,  ev'n  in  this  funeral  hour, 
Give  the  sole  lawful  guardian  failing  thee  ; 
Let  her  free  will  elect 

From  thy  brave  warriors  him  her  heart  most  leans  to ; 


The  Secret  Way.  45 

'  And  pass  with  him  along  the  secret  way, 
To  lengthen  yet  the  line  of  Scj'thian  Kings. 
Meanwhile,  since  needs  must  be 

We  trust  to  others  this  long-guarded  secret, 

'  Choose  one  to  whom  I  may  impart  the  clue 
Of  the  dark  labyrinth  ;  for  a  guide  it  needs  ; 
Be  he  in  war  well  tried. 

And  of  high  mark  among  the  Nomad  riders ; 

'  Such  as  may  say  unto  the  antique  tribes 
With  voice  of  one  reared  up  among  themselves, 
'•'  From  walls  of  stone  I  bring 

Your  King's  child  to  your  tents ;  let  Scythia  guard  her." ' 

'  Well  do  thy  counsels  please  me,'  said  the  King. 
'  I  will  convene  to  such  penurious  feast 
As  stint  permits,  the  chiefs 

Worthiest  to  be  the  sires  of  warlike  monarchs  : 


'  And,  following  ancient  custom  with  the  Scyths, 
He  unto  whom  my  daughter,  with  free  choice, 
The  wine-cup  brimming  gives. 

Shall  take  my  blessing  and  go  hence  her  husband. 


46  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  But  since,  for  guide  and  leader  of  the  few 
That  for  such  service  are  most  keen  and  apt, 
The  man  in  war  most  tried. 

And  with  the  Nomads  most  esteemed,  is  Seuthes, 


'  Him  to  thy  skilled  instructions  and  full  trust 
Will  I  send  straight.     Meanwhile  go  seek  my  child, 
And,  as  to  her  all  thought 

Of  her  own  safety  in  mine  hour  of  peril 

'  Will  in  itself  be  hateful,  use  the  force 
That  dwells  on  sacred  lips  with  blandest  art ; 
Say  that  her  presence  here 

Palsies  mine  arm  and  dulls  my  brain  with  terror ; 

'  That  mine  own  safety  I  consult  in  hers. 
And  let  her  hopeful  think,  that,  tho'  we  part. 
The  same  road  opes  for  both ; 

And  if  walls  fail  me,  hers  will  be  my  refuge.' 

Omartes  spoke,  and  of  his  stalwart  chiefs 
Selecting  all  the  bravest  yet  unwived. 
He  bade  them  to  his  board 

The  following  night,  on  matters  of  grave  import ; 


The  Secret  Way.  47 

To  Seuthes  then  the  secret  he  disclosed, 
And  Seuthes  sought  the  hierarch,  conned  the  clue, 
And  thrid  the  darksome  maze 

To  either  issue,  sepulchre  and  palace ; 

And  thus  instructed,  treasure,  town,  and  king 
Thus  in  his  hands  for  bargain  with  the  foe, 
The  treason  schemed  of  yore, 

Foiled  when  the  Mede  rejected  Scythian  nuptials, 

Yet  oft  revolved — as  some  pale  hope  deferred, 
Seen  indistinct  in  rearward  depths  of  time — 
Flashed  as,  when  looked  for  least. 

Thro'  the  rent  cloud  of  battle  flashes  triumph. 

And,  reasoning  with  himself, '  the  Mede,'  he  said, 
'  Recks  not  who  sits  upon  the  Scythian  throne, 
So  that  the  ruler  pay 

Grains  of  waste  soil  and  drops  of  useless  water  : 

'  And  if  I  render  up  an  easy  prey 
The  senseless  king  refusing  terms  so  mild. 
For  such  great  service  done 

And  for  my  rank  among  the  Scythian  riders, 


48  Lost  Tales  of  Milettis. 

'  The  Mede  would  deem  no  man  so  fit  as  I 
To  fill  the  throne,  whose  heir  he  scorned  as  wife, 
And  yield  him  dust  and  drops, 

Holding  the  realms  and  treasures  of  Omartes.' 

So,  when  the  next  day's  sun  began  to  slope. 
The  traitor  stood  before  Zariades, 
Gaining  the  hostile  camp 

From  the  mute  grave-mound  of  his  Scythian  fathers. 

Plain  as  his  simplest  soldier's  was  the  tent 
Wherein  the  lord  of  half  the  Orient  sate, 
Alone  in  anxious  thought, 

Intent  on  new  device  to  quicken  conquest. 

But  for  the  single  sapphire  in  his  helm, 
And  near  his  hand  the  regal  silver  urn, 
Filled  with  the  sparkling  lymph. 

Which,  whatsoe'er  the  distance,  pure  Choaspes 

Sends  to  the  lips  of  Achaemenian  kings,* 
The  Asian  ruler  might  to  Spartan  eyes 
Have  seemed  the  hardy  type 

Of  Europe's  manhood  crowned  in  Lacedaemon. 

*  The  license  of  romantic  fable,  which  has  already  elevated  Zariades  from  tlie 
rank  of  satrap  to  that  of  a  sovereign  prince,  here  assigns  to  him,  as  an  Achaemenian, 
a  share  in  the  sacred  waters  of  Choaspes,  which  were  transmitted  exclusively  to  the 
head  of  that  family,  viz.  the  Persian  King. 


The  Secret  Way.  49 

The  traitor,  sure  of  welcome,  told  his  tale. 
Proffered  the  treason  and  implied  the  terms. 
Then  spoke  Zariades ; 

'  Know  that  all  kings  regard  as  foe  in  common 

'  The  man  who  is  a  traitor  to  his  king. 
'Tis  true  that  I  thy  treason  must  accept. 
I  owe  it  to  my  hosts 

To  scorn  no  means,  destroying  their  destroyer  ; 

'  But  I  will  place  no  traitor  on  a  throne. 
Yet,  since  thy  treason  saves  me  many  lives, 
I  for  their  sake  spare  thine  : 

And  since  thy  deed  degrades  thee  from  the  freeman, 

'  I  add  to  life  what  slaves  most  covet — gold  : 
Thy  service  done,  seek  lands  where  gold  is  king ; 
And,  tho'  thyself  a  slave, 

Buy  freemen  vile  eno'  to  call  thee  master. 

'  But  if  thy  promise  fail,  thy  word  ensnare, 
Thy  guidance  blunder,  by  thy  side  stalks  death. 
Death  does  not  scare  the  man 

Who,  like  thyself,  has  looked  on  it  in  battle ; 

C 


50  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  But  death  in  battle  has  a  warrior's  grave  ; 
A  traitor  dead — the  \Tiltvires  and  the  dogs." 
Then  to  close  guard  the  King 

Consigned  the  SqiiijMho  for  the  first  time  trembled 

And  called  in  haste,  and  armed  his  Sacred  Band, 
The  Persian  flower  of  all  his  Orient  hosts  ; 
And  soon  in  that  dark  pass 

Marched  war,  led  under  rampired  walls  by  treason. 

Safe  thro'  the  fatal  maze  the  Persians  reached 
Stairs  winding  upward  into  palace  halls. 
With  stealthy  hand  the  guide 

Pressed  on  the  spring  of  the  concealed  portal, 

And  slowly  opening,  peered  ^sithin  :  the  space 
Stood  void  ;  for  so  it  had  been  planned,  that  none 
Might,  when  the  hour  arrived, 

Obstruct  the  spot  at  which  escape  should  vanish  : 

But  farther  on,  voices  were  heard  confiised, 
And  lights  shone  faintly  thro'  the  chinks  of  doors, 
^Vhere  one  less  spacious  hall 

Led,  also  void,  to  that  of  fated  banquet. 


Tlie  Secret  Way,  51 

Curious,  and  pelding  to  his  own  bold  heart, 
As  line  on  line  came,  steel-clad,  from  the  wall. 
Flooding  funereal  floors, 

The  young  King  whispered, '  Here  await  my  signal,' 

And  stole  along  the  inter\-ening  space, 
At  whose  far  end,  curtains  of  Lydian  woof. 
Between  vast  columns  drawn. 

Fell  in  thick  folds'  at  either  end  disparting : 

He  looked  within,  unseen ;  all  eyes  were  turned 
Towards  a  pale  front,  just  risen  o'er  the  guests. 
In  which  the  Persian  knew 

His  brother  King ;  it  was  not  pale  in  battle. 

And  thus  Omartes  spoke  :  "'  Captains  and  sons 
Of  the  same  mother,  Sc}-thia,  to  this  feast, 
"WTiich  in  such  straits  of  want 

Needs  strong  excuse,  not  idly  are  ye  summoned. 

'  Wishing  the  line  of  kings  from  which  I  spring 
Yet  to  extend,  perchance,  to  happier  times, 
And  save  mine  onlv  child 

From  death,  or,  worse  than  death,  the  Median  bondage, 


52  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  I  would  this  night  betroth  her  as  a  bride 
To  him  amongst  you  whom  herself  shall  choose  ; 
And  the  benignant  gods 

Have,  thro'  the  wisdom  of  their  sacred  augur, 


*  Shown  me  the  means  which  may  elude  the  foe, 
And  lead  the  two  that  in  themselves  unite 

The  valour  and  the  sway 

Of  Scythia,  where  her  plains  defy  besiegers. 

'  If  the  gods  bless  the  escape  they  thus  permit, 
Braved  first,  as  fitting,  by  a  child  of  kings, 
Then  the  same  means  will  free 

Flight  for  all  those  who  give  to  siege  its  terror ; 

*  Women  and  infants,  wounded  men  and  old, 
If  few  by  few,  yet  night  by  night,  sent  forth, 

Will  leave  no  pang  in  death 

To  those  reserved  to  join  the  souls  of  heroes.' 

As,  in  the  hush  of  eve,  a  sudden  wind 
Thrills  thro'  a  grove  and  bows  the  crest  of  pines. 
So  crept  a  murmured  hum 

Thro'  the  grave  banquet,  and  plumed  heads  bent  downwarc 


The  Sea^et  Way.  53 

Till  hushed  each  whisper,  and  upraised  each  eye, 
As  from  a  door  behind  the  royal  dais 
Into  the  conclave  came 

The  priest  Teleutias  leading  the  King's  daughter, 

'  Lift  up  thy  veil,  my  cliild,  Argiope,' 
Omartes  said.     '  And  look  around  the  board. 
And  from  yon  beakers  fill 

The  cup  I  kiss  as  in  thy  hand  I  place  it. 

*  And  whosoever  from  that  hand  receives 
The  cup,  shall  be  thy  husband  and  my  son.' 
The  virgin  raised  her  veil ; 

Shone  on  the  hall  the  starlight  of  her  beauty. 

But  to  no  face  amid  the  breathless  giiests 
Turned  downcast  lids  from  which  the  tears  dropped  slow : 
Passive  she  took  the  cup. 

With  passive  step  led  by  the  whispering  augur 

Where,  blazing  lustre  back  upon  the  lamps. 
Stood  golden  beakers  under  purple  pall. 
'  Courage,'  said  low  the  priest ; 

'  So  may  the  gods,  for  thy  sake,  save  thy  father !' 


54  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

She  shivered  as  he  spoke,  but,  Hps  firm-prest 
Imprisoning  all  the  anguish  at  her  heart, 
She  filled  the  fatal  cup, 
Raised  her  sad  eyes,  and  vaguely  gazed  around  her. 

Sudden  those  eyes  took  light  and  joy  and  soul, 
Sudden  from  neck  to  temples  flushed  the  rose. 
And  with  quick,  gliding  steps. 

And  the  strange  looks  of  one  who  walks  in  slumber, 

She  passed  along  the  floors,  and  stooped  above 
A  form,  that,  as  she  neared,  with  arms  outstretched, 
On  bended  knees  sunk  down 

And  took  the  wine-cup  with  a  hand  that  trembled  : 

A  form  of  youth — and  nobly  beautiful 
As  Dorian  models  for  Ionian  gods. 
'  Again  !'  it  murmured  low ; 

'  O  dream,  at  last !  at  last !  how  I  have  missed  thee !' 

And  she  replied, '  The  gods  are  merciful. 
Keeping  me"  true  to  thee  when  I  despaired.' 
But  now  rose  every  guest. 

Rose  every  voice  in  anger  and  in  terror ; 


The  Secret  Way.  55 

For  lo,  the  kneeler  lifted  over  all 
The  front  of  him  their  best  had  fled  before — 
'  Zariades  the  Mede  !' 
Rang  from  each  lip :  from  each  sheath  flashed  the  sabre. 

Thrice  stamped  the  Persian's  foot :  to  the  first  sound 
Ten  thousand  bucklers  echoed  back  a  clang ; 
The  next,  and  the  huge  walls 

Shook  with  the  war-shout  of  ten  thousand  voices  ; 

The  third,  and  as  between  divided  cloud 
Flames  fierce  with  deathful  pest  an  a?-!gry  sun. 
The  folds,  flung  rudely  back, 

Disctosed  behind  one  glare  of  serried  armour. 

On  either  side,  the  Persian  or  the  Scyth, 
The  single  lord  of  life  and  death  to  both, 
Stayed,  by  a  look,  vain  strife  ; 

And  passing  onward  amid  swords  uplifted, 

A  girl's  slight  form  beside  him  his  sole  guard, 
He  paused  before  the  footstool  of  the  King, 
And  in  such  tones  as  soothe 

The  wrath  of  injured  fathers,  said  submissive — 


56  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  I  have  been  giiilty  to  the  gods  and  thee 
Of  man's  most  sinful  sin, — ingratitude ; 
That  which  I  pined  for  most 

Seen  as  a  dream,  my  waking  hfe  rejected ; 

'  Now  on  my  knees  that  blessing  I  implore. 
Give  me  thy  daughter ;  but  a  son  receive, 
And  blend  them  both  in  one 

As  the  mild  guardian  of  the  Scythian  River.' 


DEATH    AND    SISYPHUS. 


C   2 


o 


NE  day  upon  his  throne  of  judgment,  Zeus 
Sate  to  hear  Man  accuse  his  fellow-man  ; 
And  to  the  throne  arose  one  choral  cry, 
'  Zeus,  help  from  Sisj^phus  !' 


Thought  the  All-wise, '  So  maiiy  against  one 
Are  ill  advised  to  call  on  Zeus  for  help ; 
Brute  force  is  many — Mind  is  always  one  : 

And  Zeus  should  side  with  Mind.' 

But,  deigning  to  unravel  thread  by  thread 
The  entangled  skeins  of  self-concealing  prayer, 
At  each  complaint  his  lips  ambrosial  smiled. 
For  each  was  of  the  craft 


Wherein  this  thief  usurped  the  rights  of  thieves, 
With  brain  of  fox,  defrauding  maw  of  wolf, 
So  that  the  wolves  howled  '  Help  from  Sisyphus 
Zeus,  give  us  back  our  lambs  !' 


6o      .  Lost  Tales  of  Milehis. 

Curious  to  look  upon  this  knave  of  knaves, 
Zeus  darted  down  one  soul-detecting  ray 
Under  the  brow  which,  in  repose,  sustains, 
In  movement  moves,  the  All. 


Just  at  that  moment  the  unlucky  wretch 
Was  plotting  schemes  to  cozen  Zeus  himself, 
And,  having  herds  of  oxen  on  his  hands 
Stol'n  from  his  next  of  kin. 

Fain  would  he  bribe  the  Thunderer's  oracle 
To  threat  a  year  of  famine  to  the  land, 
Trebling  to  all  who  did  not  wish  to  starve 
The  market  price  of  beeves. 

*  Softly,'  said  Zeus  :  '  thy  wit  ensnares  thyself ; 
Thou  deal'st  with  Man  when  thou  dost  steal  his  ox ; 
But  for  an  oracle  to  sell  the  beef. 

Thy  dealing  is  with  Zeus.' 

The  Thunderer  summoned  Hermes.     '  Go,'  he  said, 
'  Bid  Death  deliver  to  thy  hands  for  Styx, 
And  before  sunset,  or  I  may  relent, 

That  rogue — with  laughing  eyes.' 


Death  and  Sisyplms.  6i 

Now,  having  cheaply  bought  his  oracle, 
Home  to  his  supper  blithe  went  Sisyphus  : 
And  as  he  sate,  flower-crowned  and  quaffing  wine, 
Death  stalked  into  the  hall —  ,^ 

Saying,  not '  Save  thee,'  as  the  vulgar  say. 
But  in  politer  phrase, '  I  kiss  thy  hands.' 
'  Art  thou  the  Famine  I  have  bought  to-day  ?' 
Cried  Sisyphus,  aghast ; 

'  Thy  bones,  indeed,  are  much  in  need  of  beef.' 
'  As  lean  as  I  the  fattest  man  would  be, 
Worked  he  as  hard,  kept  ever  on  the  trot ; 
Drain  thy  last  cup — I'm  Death !' 

'  Art  thou  indeed  that  slandered  friend  of  Man  ? 
So  great  an  honour  was  not  in  my  hopes  ; 
Sit  down,  I  pray — one  moment  rest  thy  bones ; 
Here,  take  this  chair,  good  Death !' 

The  grisly  visitor  felt  inly  pleased 
At  such  unwonted  invitation  kind  ; 
And  saying, '  Well,  one  moment,'  blandly  sate 
His  OS  coccygis  down. 


62  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Myths  say  that  chair  was  by  the  Cyclops  made ; 
But,  seeking  here  historic  sober  truth, 
All  I  know  is,  that  when  our  crafty  Thief 
Sought  to  ensnare  a  foe. 


Or  force  a  creditor  to  cancel  debt. 
It  was  his  wont  to  ask  the  wretch  to  sup, 
And  place  him,  with  warm  greeting  and  sweet  smile. 
On  that  nefarious  chair  ; 

Out  from  the  back  of  which,  as  Death  sate  down. 
Darted  a  hundred  ligaments  of  steel. 
Pierced  thro'  the  hollows  of  his  fleshless  bones, 
And  bound  him  coil  on  coil ! 

'  Ho  !  I  am  ready  now,'  quoth  Sisyphus  ; 
'  Up  and  away !'     Death  could  not  stir  an  inch ; 
He  raged,  he  prayed,  he  threatened  and  he  coaxed  ; 
And  the  thief  drank  his  health ; 

Saying, '  Dear  guest,  compose  thyself;  reflect, 
'Tis  not  so  pleasant,  thou  thyself  didst  own. 
To  be  for  ever  trotting  up  and  dow;i, 
Dabbling  thy  feet  in  gore  ; 


Death  and  Sisyplms.  63 

'  Floundering  in  stormy  seas  ;  inlialing  plague  ; 
Kidnapping  infancy  ;  slow-poisoning  age  ; 
Greeted  with  tears  and  groans  ;  abhorred  by  all ; 
Sole  labourer  without  fee  ; 


'  Sole  robber,  without  profit  in  the  spoil ; 
Sole  killer,  without  motive  in  the  deed  ; 
Surely  'tis  better  to  be  loved  than  loathed ; 
Wouldst  thou  be  loved  ?     Sit  still. 

'  Sit  and  grow  fat.     What  is  it  unto  thee 
If  mortals  cease  to  colonise  the  Styx  ? 
Thou  hast  no  grudge  against  them  :  Good  or  bad, 
'Tis  all  the  same  to  Death.' 

The  Spectre  soothed  by  these  well-reasoned  words, 
And  feeling  really  livelier  in  repose, 
Little  by  little  humanised  himself, 

And  grinned  upon  his  host, 

Who,  in  his  craft,  deeming  it  best  to  make 
Friends  with  a  prisoner  who  might  yet  get  free, 
Did  all  he  could  to  entertain  the  guest 
With  many  a  merry  tale, 


64  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

And  jocund  song  and  flattering  compliment, 
Coaxed  him  to  eat,  and  gave  him  the  tit-bits, 
And  made  him  drink,  nor  grudged  the  choicest  wine, 
And  crowned  his  skull  with  flowers. 


Night  after  night  a  cheerful  sight  it  was 
To  see  these  two  at  feast,  each  facing  each, 
Chatting  till  dawn  under  amazed  stars, 

Boon  comrades,  Man  and  Death. 

Meanwhile  some  private  business  of  his  own, 
"\¥hereof  the  Initiate  in  the  Mysteries  know 
I  am  forbid  to  blab  to  vulgar  ears. 

Absorbed  the  cares  of  Zeus  : 

Veiled  in  opaque  Olympus,  this  low  earth 
The  Cloud-compeller  from  his  thoughts  dismissed, 
Till,  throned  again  upon  his  judgment-seat. 
Downward  he  bent  his  ear. 

And  not  a  single  voice  from  Man  arose, 
No  prayer,  no  accusation,  no  complaint. 
As  if,  between  the  mortals  and  the  gods, 
Fate's  golden  chain  had  snapt. 


Death  and  Sisyphus.  65 

'  Is  it  since  Death  rid  earth  of  Sisyphus, 
That  men  have  grown  contented  with  their  lot, 
And  trouble  me  no  more  ?'  the  Thunderer  said ; 
'  Hermes,  go  down  and  see.' 


The  winged  Caducean  answered, '  Sire  of  Gods, 
Death  has  not  rid  the  earth  of  Sisyphus, 
But  Sisyphus  has  rid  the  earth  of  Death, 
And  keeps  him  safely  caged. 

'  Since  then,  these  mortals,  fearing  Death  no  more. 
Live  like  the  brutes,  who  never  say  a  prayer. 
Nor  dress  an  altar,  nor  invoke  a  god ; 
All  temples  are  shut  up  ; 

'  Thy  priests  would  die  of  hunger,  could  they  die  ; 
As  'tis,  they  are  thinner  than  Tithonus  was 
Before  he  faded  into  air— compelled 
To  feed  on  herbs,  like  slugs. 

'  But  Death  has  now  got  flesh  upon  his  bones, 
And  roses  on  his  cheek,  like  Ganymede  ; 
Contented  with  his  rest,  he  eats  and  sleeps  ; 
And  Sisyphus  cheats  on. 


66  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  All  men  submit  to  him  who  captures  Death, 
And  who,  did  they  offend,  might  set  him  free.' 
In  his  mind's  abyss  the  Thunderer  mused  ; 
Then,  pitying,  smiled,  and  said, 

*  Alas,  for  men,  if  Death  has  this  repose, 

I  could  not  smite  them  with  a  direr  curse 
Than  their  own  wishes — evil  without  end. 
And  sorrow  without  prayer. 

*  Think  they,  poor  fools,  in  worshipping  no  more. 
That  'tis  the  gods  who  stand  in  need  of  men ; 
To  men  the  first  necessity  is  gods ; 

And  if  the  gods  were  not, 

'  Man  would  invent  them,  tho.'  they  godded  stones. 
But  in  compassion  for  this  race  of  clay. 
Who  else  would  make  an  Erebus  of  earth. 
Death  must  be  freed,  and  straight. 

'  Seek  thou  our  brother  Pluto  :  Death,  of  right, 
Is  in  his  service,  and  at  his  command  ; 
And  let  the  King  of  Shadows,  with  all  speed, 
Re-ope  the  way  to  Styx.' 


Death  ajtd  Sisyphus.  67 

Down  thro'  the  upper  air  into  the  realms 
Of  ancient  Night  dropped  soundless,  as  a  star, 
Starding  lost  sailors,  falls  on  Boreal  seas, 
The  heavenly  Messenger. 


lie  found  the  King  of  Hades  half  asleep ; 
Beside  him  yawned  black-robed  Persephone  ; 
A  dreary  dulness  drowsed  the  ghasdy  court, 
And  hushed  the  hell-dog's  bark. 

'  Ho,  up  !  Aidoneus,'  cried  the  lithesome  god, 
Touching  the  Dread  One  with  his  golden  wand. 
'  Welcome,'  said  Pluto,  slowly  roused.     '  What  news  ? 
Is  earth  sponged  out  of  space  ? 

<  Or  are  men  made  immortals  ?     Days  and  weeks 
Here  have  I  sat,  and  not  a  ghost  has  come 
With  tales  of  tidings  from  a  livelier  world. 
What  has  become  of  Death  ?' 

'  Well  may'st  thou  ask  ?'  said  Hermes,  and  in  brief 
He  told  his  tale,  and  spoke  the  will  of  Zeus. 
Then  rose  the  Laughterless,  with  angry  frown 
Shadowing  the  realm  of  shade. 


68  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

And  donned  the  helm  wherewith,  on  entering  Hght, 
From  light  he  hides  the  horror  of  his  shape. 
Void  stood  hell's  throne,  from  hell's  gate  rose  a  blast. 
And  upon  earth  came  storm. 

Ships  rocked  on  whitening  waves ;  the  seamen  laughed ; 
'  Death  is  bound  fast,'  they  cried  ;  '  no  wave  can  drown.' 
Red  lightnings  wrapt  the  felon  plundering  shrines, 
And  smote  the  cradled  babe  : 


'  Blaze  on,'  the  felon  said ;  '  ye  cannot  kill.' 
The  mother  left  the  cradle  with  a  smile  ; 
'  A  pretty  toy,'  quoth  she, '  the  Thunderer's  bolt ! 
My  urchin  plays  with  it. 

'  Brats  do  not  need  a  mother ;  there's  no  Death.' 
The  adulteress  starting  cried, '  Forgive  me,  Zeus !' 
'  Tut,'  quoth  the  gallant, '  let  the  storm  rave  on. 
Kiss  me.     No  Death,  no  Zeus !' 

'  Laugh,  kiss,  sin  on ;  ere  night  I  have  ye  all,' 
Growled  the  Unseen,  whose  flight  awoke  the  storm  ; 
And  in  the  hall  where  Death  sate  crowned  with  flowers. 
Burst  thro'  closed  doors  the  blast. 


Death  and  Sisyphus.  69 

Waiting  his  host's  return  to  sup,  Death  sate, 
A  jolly,  rubicund,  tun-bellied  Death  ; 
Charmed  with  his  chair,  despite  its  springs  of  steel, 
And  lilting  Bacchic  songs. 


Suddenly  round  about  him  and  around 
Circled  the  breath  that  kindled  Phlegethon  ; 
Melted  like  wax  the  ligaments  of  steel ; 
And  Death  instinctive  rose  : 

He  did  not  see  the  Hell-King's  horrent  shape, 
But  well  he  knew  the  voice  at  which  the  hall 
Shook  to  the  roots  of  earth  in  Tartarus. 
'  Find  I  the  slave  of  Life 

'  In  mine  own  viceroy,  Life's  supremest  lord  ? 
Haste — thy  first  charge,  thine  execrable  host : 
Then  long  arrears  pay  up  ;  career  the  storm, 
And  seize,  and  seize,  and  seize ! 

*  Bring  me  the  sailor  chuckling  in  his  ship. 
The  babe  -whose  cradle  knows  no  mother's  knee, 
The  adulterer  in  the  riot  of  his  kiss. 

And  say, "Zeus  reigns  and  Death." 


yo  Lost  Tales  of  Aliletus. 

'  And  seize,  and  seize,  and  seize,  for  Hell  cries  "  Give  ;"  ' 
So  the  voice  went  receding  down  the  storm ; 
And  Sisyphus  then  entering  in  the  hall, 

Death  clutched  him  by  the  throat 

'  How  cam'st  thou  free  ?'  gasped  out  the  thief  of  thieves  : 
'  My  chains  were  molten  at  the  breath  of  Dis. 
Quick ;  I  have  much  to  do.'     Said  Sisyphus, 
'  I  see  mine  hoiir  is  come ; 

'  But  as  I've  been  a  kindly  host  to  thee, 
So,  by  the  memory  of  boon  comradeship, 
Let  me  at  least  unto  my  wife  bequeath 
My  last  requests  on  earth : 

'  Ho,  sweetheart !'  Death  still  had  him  in  his  gripe  ; 
But,  not  unwilling  that  his  host  should  save 
His  soul  from  torture  by  some  pious  wish. 
Paused — and  the  wife  came  in. 


'  Hark  ye,  dear  love,'  unto  her  ear  the  thief 

Whisperingly  stole  his  dying  words  from  Death  : 
'  As,  whatsoe'er  to  others  my  misdeeds, 
I  have  been  true  to  tliee, 


Death  and  Sisyphus.  71 

'  The  sweetest,  gentlest,  loveliest  of  thy  sex, 
Obey  me  now,  as  I  have  thee  obeyed  ; 
I  know,  by  warning  message  from  the  gods, 
That  for  a  time  my  soul 


*  Must  quit  my  body ;  Zeus  needs  my  advice. 
But  tho'  to  vulgar  eyes  I  may  seem  dead, 
Hold  me  as  living ;  take  me  to  my  couch  ; 
Wrap  me  up  warmly,  sweet : 

'  Death  is  set  free ;  slay  a  fat  capon,  love. 
Place  with  a  bowl  of  Chian  by  my  bed. 
Stay,  chuck,  those  armlets,  pearls  from  Ormus — chuck. 
When  I  come  back,  are  thine.' 

As  all  wise  knaves  make  sure  of  honest  wives, 
So  the  good  woman,  swearing  to  obey, 
Sisyphus  trusted  to  her  love — of  pearls,    ■ 
And  left  the  hall  with  Death. 

Death  straightway  gave  to  Hermes  at  the  door 
His  charge,  and  passed  away  upon  the  storm  ; 
On  sea  rose  yells,  soon  drowned  beneath  the  waves, 
On  land  rose  shrieks,  soon  stilled ; 


72  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

And  the  next  morning  all  the  altars  smoked, 
And  all  the  fanes  were  carpeted  with  knees  : 
Death  had  returned  to  earth ;  again  to  heaven 
The  gods  returned  for  men. 


Meanwhile  adown  the  infinite  descent 
The  god  of  thieves  conducted  the  arch-thief, 
Who  prayed  his  patron  deity  to  explain 
\¥hy  in  his  noon  of  years 

Thus  hurried  off  to  everlasting  night. 
*  Hadst  thou,'  said  Hermes,  '  only  cheated  knaves 
Worse  than  thyself  in  being  also  fools. 

Thou  might'st  have  lived  as  long 

'  As  that  yet  blacker  thief,  the  solemn  crow ; 
But  'tis  too  much  to  cheat  the  Sire  of  Gods, 
And  forge  his  oracles  to  sell  the  beef 
Thou  hadst  the  wit  to  steal.' 

'  True,'  sighed  the  ghost ;  '  let  me  but  live  again, 
And  Zeus  shall  have  no  overseer  on  earth 
So  sternly  holding  venal  priests  in  awe 
Of  a  strict  watch  as  I. 


Death  and  Sisyphus.  73 

'  Not  for  myself  I  speak  ;  I  think  of  Zeus. 
'Tis  for  his  interest  that  a  knave  like  me 
Should  be  converted  to  a  holy  man  ; 
Marvels  attest  the  gods.' 


'  Sound  truth,'  said  Hermes  ;  '  but,  like  other  truths, 
Before  it  profits  the  discoverer  dies. 
'Tis  now  too  late  for  such  kind  hints  to  Zeus.' 
'  Not  if  thou  plead  my  cause. 

'  Is  not  Zeus  mild  to  sinners  who  repent .'" 
'  Yes,  on  condition  they  are  still  alive.' 
'  Were  I  then  living,  thou  wouldst  plead  for  me  ?' 
'  Ay  ;  nor,  methinks,  in  vain.'  ^ 

'  That's  all  I  ask.     If  I  escape  the  Shades, 
And  in  my  body  lodge  myself  again 
(There's  honour  among  thieves),  I  count  on  thee'— 
'  Escape  the  Shades  and  count.' 

'  One  doubt  disturbs  me  still,'  resumed  the  ghost. 
'  The  gods  have  their  distractions,  Death  has  none. 
Before  thou  hear  me,  or  canst  plead  with  Zeus, 
Death  will  be  at  my  heels.' 
D 


i 


74  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Friend,'  said  more  gravely  the  good-humoured  god, 
'  Dost  thou,  in  truth,  nurse  crotchets  of  return 
From  the  inexorable  domain  ?     Tut,  tut ! 
Dead  once  is  dead  for  good !' 

'  Now,  then,  I  know  thou  really  art  my  friend  : 
None  but  true  friends  choose  such  unpleasant  words,' 
Replied  the  ghost.     '  Crotchet  or  not,  I  mean 
To  sup  at  home  to-night.' 

'  If  so,'  said  Hermes, '  having  supped,  and  proved 
Thou  hast  once  more  a  stomach  in  the  flesh. 
Call  Hermes  thrice ;  ere  Death  can  find  thee  out, 
I'll  plead  thy  cause  with  Zeus, 

'  And  let  thee  know  if  thou'rt  a  ghost  again  !' 
'  Content !'  cried  Sis}^hus,  and  grew  so  gay. 
That  Hermes,  god  of  wits  as  well  as  thieves, 
Sighed  when  they  got  to  Styx  ; 

And  inly  said, '  A  rogue  like  this  would  make 
Souls  in  Elysium  find  their  bliss  less  dull ;' 
Here  the  rogue  whispered  to  the  god, '  To-night !' 
Then  cried  to  Charon, '  Boat !' 


ft 


Death  and  Sisyphus.  75 

'  Thy  fee  !'  said  Charon.     '  Where's  thine  obokis  ?' 
'  Obolus,  stupidest  of  ferrymen  ! 
Let  souls  made  unctuous  by  funereal  nard 

Grease  thy  Phlegreean  palm.  y 

'  There  is  no  house-tax  where  there  is  no  house  : 
There  is  no  grave-tax  where  there  is  no  grave. 
I  am  unburied  and  unburnt ;  I'm  nought — 
Nought  goes  for  nothing,  churl.' 

Charon  shoved  off  in  growling '  Hang  thyself.' 
'  Lend  me  thy  throat,'  replied  the  ghost ;  '  I  will.' 
Thereat  the  ghosts,  unburied  like  himself, 
Laughed  out  a  dreary  laugh. 

Dense  was  that  crowd,  the  wrong  side  of  the  Styx 
To  and  fro  flitting  ;  age-long  to  and  fro  ; 
The  guileless  man  murdered  in  secret  ways  ; 
The  murderer  in  his  flight, 

Back-looking,  lest  the  Furies  were  behind, 
Down  sliddery  scarp  o'ergrown  by  brambles  whirled  ; 
Both  burialless  save  in  the  vulture's  craw, 
And  now  from  judgment  kept 


76  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

On  the  low  stream's  bleak  margin,  side  by  side. 
There,  cast  by  shipwreck  on  untrodden  sands, 
Where  never  sailor  came,  o'er  bleaching  skulls 
To  sprinkle  pious  dust, 


Lovers,  whose  kisses  had  been  meeting  fires, 
Unsevered  still,  clasped  hands  without  a  throb, 
Staring  on  waves  whose  oozing  dulness  gave 
No  shadow  back  to  shades. 

Eft-soons  a  sound  strange  to  the  realms  of  Dis, 
Roll'd  o'er  the  Ninefold  River  to  the  hall 
Wherein,  returned,  sate  Pluto  ;  loathed  sound 
Of  laughter  mocking  woe. 

'  What  daring  ghosts  by  impious  mirth  profane 
The  sanctity  of  Hades  ?'  asked  the  King. 
Answered  a  Shape  that  just  before  the  Three 
Had  brought  a  conqueror's  soul, 

'  Upon  the  earthward  margin  of  the  Styx, 
Merry  as  goat-song  makes  wine-tippling  boors, 
Shoulder  on  shoulder  pressing,  the  pale  mob 
Drink  into  greedy  ears 


Death  and  SisypJms.  77 

'  The  quips  and  cranks  of  an  unburied  droll 
Fresh  from  Greek  suns,  named  Sisyphus.     Dread  King, 
Charon,  provoked  to  mutiny  by  mirth, 
Swears  he  will  break  his  oars 


'  Unless  thou  free  him  from  the  ribald  wit 
Which  stings  him  as  the  gadfly  lo  stung.' 
As  Sisyphus,  unburied,  could  not  come 
To  Pluto—Pluto  went. 

Striding  the  Ninefold  stream,  to  Sisyphus. 
'  Cease  thy  vile  mime-tricks,'  said  the  Laughterless, 
'  Or  dread  the  torments  doom'd  to  laughter  here.' 
'  Pluto,'  replied  the  knave, 

'  There  are  no  torments,  by  thy  righteous  law. 
To  any  ghost  until  his  case  be  judged  ; 
But  to  be  judged  he  must  have  crossed  the  Styx  : 
The  unburied  cannot  cross. 


'Tis  not  my  fault,  but  that  of  my  base  wife  ; 
She  grudges  funeral  to  the  corpse  I  left. 
But  if  thou  let  my  ghost  return  to  earth. 

As  ghosts,  when  wronged,  have  done, 


78  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  To  fright  her  soul  its  duty  to  discharge, 
And  by  interment  fit  me  for  the  Styx, 
Most  gladly  I  will  face  thy  Judges  three,  ^ 
And  prove  my  blameless  life.' 

'  Go,  then,  nor  tarry.     Let  me  not  again 
Send  Death  to  fetch  thee.     Frighten  well  thy  wife.' 
Swift  into  upper  air  sped  Sis}Tohus, 

Slid  thro'  his  household  doors, 

And  his  own  body  entered  in  a  trice. 
And  having  settled  at  his  ease  therein. 
He  fell  to  supper  with  exceeding  gust. 

That  done,  cried  '  Hermes'  thrice. 

Having  thus  cried,  sleep  fell  upon  his  eyes. 
And,  in  the  vision  of  the  night,  behold, 
Stood  Hermes  aureoled  by  a  ring  of  light 
Shed  from  the  smile  of  Zeus, 

Saying, '  The  Thunderer  hath  vouchsafed  reprieve, 
Nor  shall  Death  take  thee  till  thyself  dost  call ; 
And  what  in  life  men  covet  will  be  thine — 
Honours,  and  feasts,  and  gear  : 


Death  a7id  Sisyp/ius.  79 

'  Hold  these  as  perfumes  on  an  altar  burned  ; 
The  altar  stands,  the  incense  fades  in  smoke ; 
The  Three  will  ask  thee,  "  Was  the  altar  pure  ?" 
Not  "  Were  the  perfumes  sweet  ?" 


At  morn  woke  Sisyphus  ;  and  of  that  dream 
Recalled  the  first  half,  and  forgot  the  last. 
'  Death  shall  not  come  till  I  myself  shall  call. 
How  I  shall  tire  my  heirs  ! 

'  What !  call  on  Death,  'mid  honours,  feasts,  and  gear ! 
Hermes,  indeed  thou  art  the  god  of  thieves ; 
A  famous  bargain  we  have-made  with  Zeus  :' 
He  rose,  and  hailed  the  sun. 

And  all  things  prospered  well  with  Sisyphus  : 
Out  of  the  profits  of  his  stolen  beeves 
He  built  him  ships  and  traded  to  far  seas, 
And  every  wind  brought  gold  ; 

And  with  the  gold  he  hired  himself  armed  men, 
And  by  their  aid  ruled  far  and  wide  as  king ; 
Filled  justice-halls  with  judges  incormpt. 
Temples  with  priests  austere  : 


8o  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

And  from  a  petty  hamlet  Corinth  rose, 
With  heaven-kissed  towers,  above  a  twofold  sea ; 
And  where  gaunt  robbers  prowled  thro'  forest  glooms, 
And  herds  grazed  leagues  of  waste, 

The  boor  in  safety  carolled  at  his  plough. 
And  ample  garners  hived  the  golden  grain  : 
Thus  each  man's  interest  led  to  all  men's  law  ; 
And,  born  of  iron  rule. 

Order  arose  to  harmonise  brute  force  ; 
And  glimmered  on  the  world  the  dawn  of  Greece. 
For  if  the  gods  permit  the  bad  to  thrive, 
'Tis  for  the  ends  of  good, 

As  tyrants  sow  the  harvest  freemen  reap. 
But  Sisyphus  built  temples  and  decked  shrines, 
Not  for  religious  homage  to  the  gods, 
But  as  the  forts  of  thrones. 

There  was  no  altar  in  his  secret  soul : 
If  he  prized  law,  law  legalises  power ; 
And  conquest,  commerce,  tax,  and  tribute  were 
The  beeves  he  stole  as  king. 


Death  and  Sisyplms.  8i 

So  he  lived  long  'mid  honours,  feasts,  and  gear ; 
But  age  came  on,  and  anguish,  and  disease. 
Man  ever  thinks,  in  bargaining  with  Zeus, 
To  cheat,  and  ever  fails. 


And  weary,  weary  seemed  the  languid  days. 
Joyless  the  feast,  and  glitterless  the  gold. 
Till  racked  with  pain,  one  night  on  Death  he  called. 
And  passed  with  Death  away. 

He  lacked  not,  this  time,  funeral  obsequies ; 
Assyrian  perfumes  balmed  his  funeral  pyre  : 
His  ashes  crumbled  in  a  silver  urn. 
Stored  in  a  porphyry  tomb. 

And  for  a  while,  because  his  children  reigned, 
Men  praised  his  fortunes,  nor  condemned  his  sins ; 
Wise  bards  but  called  him  '  Craftiest  of  mankind,' 
Proud  rulers  'The  most  blest.' 


But  when  his  line  was  with  the  things  no  more, 
And  to  revile  the  old  race  pleased  the  new. 
All  his  misdeeds  rose  lifelike  from  his  tomb. 
And  spoke  from  living  tongues  : 
D  2 


82  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

And  awful  legends  of  some  sentence  grim, 
Passed  on  his  guilty  soul  in  Tartarus, 
Floated,  like  vapours,  from  the  nether  deep, 
And  tinged  the  sunlit  air. 

But,  by  a  priest  in  Sais,  I  was  told 
A  tale,  not  known  in  Greece,  of  this  man's  doom. 
That  when  the  Thracian  Orpheus,  in  the  Shades, 
Sought  his  Eurydice, 

He  heard,  tho'  in  the  midst  of  Erebus, 
Song  sweet  as  his  Muse-mother  made  his  own  ; 
It  broke  forth  from  a  solitary  ghost, 
Who,  up  a  vaporous  hill, 

Heaved  a  huge  stone  that  came  rebounding  back. 
And  still  the  ghost  upheaved  it  and  still  sang. 
In  the  brief  pause  from  toil  while  towards  the  height 
Reluctant  rolled  the  stone. 

The  Thracian  asked  in  wonder, '  Who  art  thou. 
Voiced  like  Heaven's  lark  amidst  the  night  of  Hell  ?' 
'  My  name  on  earth  was  Sisyphus,*  replied 
The  phantom.     *  In  the  Shades 


Death  and  SisypJms.  83 

'  I  keep  mine  earthly  wit ;  I  have  duped  the  Three.* 
They  gave  me  work  for  torture  ;  work  is  joy. 
Slaves  work  in  chains,  and  to  the  clank  they  sing.' 
Said  Orpheus, '  Slaves  still  hope !' 


And  could  I  strain  to  heave  up  the  huge  stone 
Did  I  not  hope  that  it  would  reach  the  height  ? 
There  penance  ends,  and  dawn  Elysian  fields.' 
'  But  if  it  never  reach  ?' 

The  Thracian  sighed,  as  looming  through  the  mist 
The  stone  came  whirling  back.     '  Fool,'  said  the  ghost, 
Then  mine,  at  worst,  is  everlasting  hope.' 
Again  uprose  the  stone. 


*  The  three  judges  of  Hell  are  not  named  in  this  tale.  According  to  nij'tholog- 
ical  chronology,  they  could  not  have  been  those  famous  arbiters  of  final  doom,  /Ea- 
cus,  Rhadamanthus,  and  Minos,  who  did  not  flourish  even  on  earth  till  after  the 
time  of  Sisj'phus. 


CORINNA; 

OR, 
THE    GROTTO    OF    PAN    AT    EPHESUS. 


V- 


\. 


In  the  neighbourhood  of  Ephesus  there  was  a  grotto,  said  to  be  arched  over 
one  of  the  entrances  to  Hades.  In  the  grotto  there  was  a  statue  of  Artemis,  to 
which  was  attached  the  reed  dedicated  to  her  by  Pan  as  a  peace-offering.  This 
grotto  afforded  an  ordeal  to  maidens  wilHng  to  clear  themselves  of  any  charge 
against  their  honour.  If  when  they  entered  the  cave  the  reed  gave  forth  a  sound 
of  music,  they  were  considered  to  be  acquitted  of  all  charge  — if  not,  they  dis- 
appeared.    The  following  story  is  founded  on  this  legend. 


l^  LAUCON  of  Lesbos,  the  son  of  Euphorion, 
^-^    Burned  for  Corinna,  the  blue-eyed  Milesian. 
Nor  mother  nor  father  had  she  ; 
Beauty  and  wealth  had  the  orphan. 

Short  was  the  wooing,  and  fixed  was  the  wedding-day, 
Nuptial  dues  paid  to  the  Fates  and  to  Artemis  :* 
But  envy  not  lovers  their  bliss  ; 
Brief  is  the  bliss  of  a  mortal. 

'  Wealthy  in  truth  is  thy  beauteous  affianced  one,' 
Said  to  the  lover  his  father  Euphorion  : 
'  To  save  thee  the  shame  of  her  wealth. 
Left  I  my  vineyards  in  Lesbos. 

'  More  than  one  Zeus  has  rained  gold  on  thy  Danae  : 
Look  at  these  proofs  ;  weigh  the  names  of  the  witnesses.' 
All  marble  stood  Glaucon,  as  one 
Smit  by  the  eye  of  Medusa. 


*  Previous  to  any  marriage  (usually,  but  not  always,  on  the  day  before  the  wed- 
ding), it  was  customary  with  the  Greeks  to  make  offerings  to  Hera,  Artemis,  and 
the  Fates,  as  divinities  presiding  over  marriage. 


88  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Lone  in  her  chamber,  the  tender  Milesian 
Started  from  dreams  of  her  lover  to  gaze  on  him. 
And  '  Dazzling  thy  home,  my  betrothed  ; 
Gold  frets  the  beams  of  thy  ceilings  ; 


'  Fair  shine  thy  walls  with  the  tissues  of  Persia ; 
Ind  paves  thy  floors  with  its  tributes  of  ivory ; 
Thy  chests  teem  with  Laurian  ore  ; 
Art  thou  not  proud  of  thy  riches  ?' 

'  All  that  thou  namest,'  replied  the  Milesian, 
'  Passing  to  thee,  are  but  prized  as  thou  prizest  them  : 
Of  wealth  that  is  mine  I  am  proud — 
Proud  of  the  heart  of  my  Glaucon  !' 

'  Rightly  thou  sayest  my  heart,  mocking  sorceress. 
That  I  have  given  to  crush  and  to  trample  on  ; 
My  right  hand  of  man  is  mine  own, 
This  yet  I  save  from  dishonour.' 

Hurrying  he  gasped  out  the  tale  that  had  maddened  him. 
Witness  and  proof;  and  she  heard  and  she  answered  not ; 
She  sate  looking  drearily  down. 
As  suppliants  sit  by  an  altar. 


Corinna;  or  the  Grotto  of  Pan  at  Ephesus.  89 

*  Speechless  ?'  he  cried — 'No  defence  ?    O  thou  guilty  one,' 
Then  from  her  white  lips  her  voice  sounded  hollowly : 
'  Accusers  are  many — and  I, 

Now,  losing  thee,  am  so  lonely.' 

Here  the  voice  stopped ;  and  a  shudder  came  over  her, 
Looking  too  young,  not  for  grief,  but  for  guiltiness. 
The  wrath  of  the  man  fell  abashed  ; 
Inly  he  sighed, '  Yet  she  loves  me  !' 

'  Bom-blind  are  mortals,'  he  said,  after  pausing  long, 
'  Guessing  the  colours  of  truth,  as  lip-told  to  them  ; 
But  truth  is  beheld  by  the  gods  : 

Dar'st  thou  ask  gods  for  thy  judges  ? 

'  Pan,  the  omniscient,  a  shrine  has  at  Ephesus, 
Built  in  the  arch  of  the  entrance  to  Acheron. 
And  there  the  god  hung  up  his  reed, 
Vowed  unto  Artemis  stainless. 


'  Let  the  pure  maiden,  appealing  from  calumny, 
Enter  with  holy  foot  under  the  gloomy  arch, 
The  reed  which  no  mortal  may  touch 
Sounds  silver-sweet  her  acquittal. 


90  Lost  Tales  of  Milehis. 

'  They  who  are  guilty !'    '  Why  pause  ?    For  the  guilty,  then, 
Say,  has  the  reed  a  voice  sterner  than  memory  ?' 
'  The  reed  for  the  guilty  is  mute  : 
Lost  to  the  guilty  is  daylight. 

'  If  thou  art  pure  the  adventure  is  perilless, 
Horror  and  night,  if  the  witnesses  slander  not : 
Restored  to  my  arms,  living  bride, 
Or  in  the  ghost-land — a  shadow !' 

Sudden  she  rose,  all  the  woman  in  majesty ; 
Fearlessly  fronting  him  ;  solemnly  beautiful ; 
And  calm  was  her  eye  and  her  smile. 
But  the  calm  thrilled  him  with  terror. 


Calmly  thus  rises  the  moon  over  Rhodope, 
Calmly  revealing  the  ice-fields  of  Thracia, 
When  every  where  quiet  and  light. 
Every  where  midnight  and  winter. 

'  Welcome  the  shrine  in  the  gateway  of  Acheron 
So  that  thou  art  by  my  side  as  I  enter  it ; 
When  rounds  the  next  moon  to  her  full. 
Meet  we  at  Ephesus,  Glaucon. 


Corinna;  or  the  Grotto  of  Fan  at  Ephesus.  91 

'  So  the  gods  keep  thee ! — return  to  Euphorion.' 
Veiling  her  head,  as  a  dream  she  passed  noiselessly, 
Passed  noiselessly — as  when  a  dream 
Glides  from  the  eyelids  of  sorrow. 


Round  is  the  orb  of  the  moon  in  the  summer  sky ; 
Dark  in  the  sacred  grove,  pine  tree  and  platanus 
Commingle  the  gloom  of  their  boughs 
Over  the  arch  of  Pan's  grotto. 


Came  from  the  right  with  her  maids,  the  Mile-sian  ; 
Came  from  the  left,  the  pale  son  of  Euphorion  • 
Before  the  dread  cavern,  the  two 
Meet,  and  stand  facing  each  other. 

'  Nuptial  wreaths  crown  thee  :  Oh  blessed  the  omen  be ! 
Shamed  lying  tongues  when  the  reed  vowed  to  Artemis 
Shall  lead  on  the  flutes  for  my  bride  !' 
'  Then  thou  still  lov'st  me,  O  Glaucon  ! 

'  If  I  come  back  from  the  path  into  Acheron 
Wilt  thou  yet  think  of  the  tales  that  have  tortured  thee  ? 
And  if  I  come  not,  wilt  thou  say, 

"  I  asked  her  life,  and  she  gave  it  ?"  ' 


92  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Veiling  his  face  with  his  hand,  spoke  the  Lesbian, 
'  Come  back  to  light,  and  the  gods  have  acquitted  thee ; 
But  ah !  if  the  gods  could  condemn. 
There,  where  thou  goest,  I  follow.' 

'  Now,'  she  said  softly, '  I  fear  thee  not,  Artemis. 
Sun,  soon  to  rise  from  thy  sleep  in  dark  ocean. 
Whose  steeds  I  have  blamed  for  their  sloth. 
Waiting  the  sound  of  one  footfall ; 

'  Flowers  in  whose  leaves  I  so  late  had  my  oracles, 
Asking  leaf  after  leaf  "  Loves  he  ?  much  ?  evermore  T 
And  deeming  it  promise  from  Heaven 
When  but  a  leaf  answered  kindly ; 

'  Take  my  farewell,  if  so  sentence  the  deities. 
Life  has  worse  terrors  than  those  of  the  Shadow-land. 
Now,  Glaucon,  thy  right  hand  once  more ; 
Ah,  once  again  say,  "  I  love  thee." ' 

'  Hold  ;  if  thy  soul  does  not  cry  "  I  am  innocent," 
Stern  will  the  gods  be.'     '  Are  mortals  more  merciful  ? 
If  so,  wilt  thou  make  me  thy  bride  ?' 
'  Yes ;  but  O  be  not  my  victim.' 


Corinna;  or  the  Grotto  of  Pan  at  Ephesus.   93 

Gently  she  bent  o'er  the  right  hand  that  clung  to  her ; 
Softly  a  tear  and  a  kiss  fell  together  there  ; 
Then  startled  he  misses  her  touch, 
Blackly  the  cave  has  closed  o'er  her. 

Clanged  the  grim  doors  with  a  roar  as  she  glided  in  ; 
Voiceless  around  stood  the  listening  group,  tremulous  ; 
And  hark,  from  the  heart  of  the  cave 
Sound  not  of  Pan's  fluten  music — 


Sound  of  such  wail  as  to  haunted  dreams  wander  from 
Lands  lost  to  light,  where  Cocytus  winds  drearily, — 
O  never  till  earth  hide  their  urns. 
They  who  have  heard  shall  forget  it. 

Wide  flew  the  doors  of  the  fatal  cave,  noiselessly, 
Into  the  dark  rushed  the  moonbeams  inquisitive  : 
The  moonbeams  rushed  into  the  dark, 
Rushed  with  the  moonbeams  the  lover. 

White  at  the  verge  of  the  gulf,  black  and  fathomless, 
Niched  in  her  shrine,  stood  the  statue  of  Artemis, 
And  lo,  at  her  feet  lay  the  reed 
Vowed  by  the  Haunter  of  Forests. 


c 


94  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus, 

Close  by  the  reed  was  the  girl's  wreath  of  myrtle-buds, 
Every  bud  withered  save  one,  freshly  blossoming,  ■ 
And  close  to  the  garland  a  leaf 
Torn  from  an  ivory  tablet ; 

These  the  sole  tokens  that  told  of  the  vanished  one. 
Few  were  the  words  that  were  writ  on  the  ivory  : 
'  To  Glaucon  my  wealth  on  the  earth ; 
With  me  I  take  what  he  gave  me.' 

Many,  since  then,  say  the  maiden  was  innocent. 
That  her  rash  love  roused  the  wrath  of  cold  Artemis ; 
And  they  who  would  slanders  revive 
Only  dare  hint  them  in  whispers. 

Waned  not  that  moon  ere  to  torches  funereal 
By  his  son's  bier  walked  the  gray-haired  Euplx)rion, 
And  near  the  dark  cave,  Glaucon's  tomb 
Arched  his  own  path  to  the  shadows. 

Now  thro'  the  stone  of  ihe  tomb  cleaves  a  m}Ttle  tree. 
Springing,  'tis  said,  from  the  lost  maiden's  bridal  wreath ; 
Its  stem  parts  in  twain  ;  ever  green 
One  half,  and  one  ever  leafless. 


Corinna;  or  the  Grotto  of  Pan  at  Ephcsiis.  95 

Fondly  the  green  with  the  leafless  would  intertwine, 
Seeking  to  deck  branches  sere  with  fresh  blossomings, 
And  never  again  wear  a  smile 
They  who  sit  under  that  myrtle. 


THE    FATE    OF    CALCHAS, 


E 


There  are  at  least  three  traditions  as  to  the  fate  of  Calchas,  one  of  which 
(Servius  ad  Virg.  Eel.  vi    72)  serves  as  groundwork  to  the  story  herein  told. 


/^ALCH AS,  the  soothsayer,  of  mankind  the  wisest, 
King  over  kings,  subjecting  Agamemnon, 
Thus  counselled  to  himself 

Sitting  outside  his  porch  one  summer  noon  ; 


'  Enough,  O  Calchas,  hast  thou  lived  for  glory  ; 
Now  live,  as  meaner  mortals  live,  for  pleasure  ; 
Albeit  thy  locks  are  gary. 

Long  years  yet  stretch  between  the  Styx  and  thee  ; 

*  For,  by  unerring  oracle,  hath  Phoebus 
Declared  that  Calchas  shall  from  death  be  sacred, 
Till  he  a  soothsayer  meet 

With  wisdom  more  heaven-gifted  than  his  owi.\. 

'  Now  know  I  all  the  priests  of  all  the  temples  ; 
There  breathes  not  one  who  hails  me  not  as  master. 
That  sage  has  to  be  born. 

Who,  when  as  gray  as  I,  may  be  as  wise. 

'  Wherefore  the  joys  which  in  life's  noon  escaped  me, 
Around  life's  lengthened  evening  I  will  gather. 
And  amid  wine  and  flowers 

Await  the  slow  forewarner  of  the  Shades.' 


I  oo  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

So  Calchas  with  his  share  of  liion's  treasure 
Built  a  fair  house  'mid  fields  of  corn  and  olive  ; 
But  most  he  took  delight 

In  vines  transplanted  from  the  Phrygian  hills. 

One  day  he  stood,  o'erarched  with  purple  clusters 
Ripe  for  the  vintage,  when  there  spoke  behind  him 
A  sharp  and  taunting  voice, 

'  Why  counting  grapes  whose  wine  is  not  for  thee  ?' 

Sore  angered  at  such  rude  rebuke  irreverent. 
The  prophet  turning,  saw  a  wolf-eyed  rover, 
Most  like  some  seaman  wrecked, 

And,  gaunt  with  hunger,  prowling  alien  shores. 

'  Stranger  to  me  and  truth,'  the  wise  man  answered, 
'  The  grapes  are  mine,  and  mine  will  be  the  vintage.' 
'  Stranger  thyself  to  truth,' 

Replied  the  vagrant, '  thou  may'st  press  the  grapes, 

'  But,  as  I  said,  the  wine  belongs  to  others.' 
'  Know'st  thou,  O  frontless  man,  that  I  am  Calchas, 
Apollo's  awful  priest .' 

Hence,  nor  with  ribald  jests  profane  mine  ear.' 


The  Fate  of  C ale  has.  loi 

'  It  suits  not  priests  another's  goods  to  covet, 
And  less  to  rail  at  him  whose  tongue  speaks  truly ; 
The  wine  those  clusters  store, 

Shall  never  redden  by  a  drop  thy  lips.' 

'  Art  thou  a  soothsayer  also  ?'  asked  the  Prophet. 
'  Regard  my  dress  and  thine  :     Are  soothsayers  ragged  ? 
'  Thy  garb,  indeed,  shows  want. 

And  thy  looks  hunger ;  dost  thou  fail  of  work  ?' 

*  Nay,  I  find  work  enough  in  yonder  city ; 
But  if  thou  need'st  a  slave  to  tend  thy  vineyards, 
I'll  sell  myself  to  thee 

The  clay  thou  drink  the  vintage  of  those  grapes.' 

'  Agreed  !     Where  find  thee  ?'     '  Daily  in  the  market, 
At  hest  of  any  man  who  gives  me  taskwork.' 
'  Go.     When  these  grapes  are  wine 

I'll  summon  thee,  and  thou  shalt  be  my  slave.' 

So  the  man  went  his  way ;  and  in  due  season 
Red  feet,  in  dancing  measure,  trod  the  clusters. 
And  Calchas  set  apart 

The  choicer  juices  in  the  bell-mouthed  urns. 


I02  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Stored  to  ferment  amid  Arabian  spices, 
And  languish  into  draughts  for  future  winters. 
But  the  new  must,  made  clear 

By  sharpening  acids  for  that  autumn  feast, 


Being  now  cooled  in  moist  sea-sands,  and  courting 
With  infant  smiles  the  lips  of  the  Bacchante, 
Calchas  sent  forth  his  slaves 

To  summon  round  his  board  a  host  of  friends ; 

And,  mindful  of  the  bond  with  that  rude  stranger, 
Ordered  the  slaves  to  seek  him  in  the  market, 
And  bid  him  come  to  quaff 

To  his  new  master's  health  in  this  new  wine. 

The  guests  were  met,  and  ranged  on  seats  of  citron, 
AVith  ivy  crowned  and  Amathusian  myrtle. 
When  strode  into  the  hall 

The  ragged  vagrant,  lean,  with  hungry  eyes. 

Then  Calchas  rising,  first  made  due  libation. 
And  cup  in  hand,  refilled  by  slaves  from  Ilion, 
Told  with  a  priestly  mirth, 

Grave,  yet  provoking  gaiet}',  his  tale, 


The  Fate  of  Calchas.  103 

The  vagrant's  sturdy  and  unshamed  assurance, 
And  how  he  proffered  slavery  proving  truthless  , 
'  Yea,  on  the  very  day 

Whereon,'  the  prophet  said, '  I  drink  this  wine. 


'  Therefore,  my  guests,  I  call  you  all  to  witness, 
If  this  man  now  dare  to  renew  that  proffer, 
So  there  be  no  dispute, 
That  by  his  proper  choice  he  is  my  slave. 

'  Stranger,  thou  hearest.     Own  thyself  repentant ; 
Learn  shame,  take  pardon,  and  depart  a  freeman.' 
The  stranger  hitched  his  rags 

Over  his  shoulder  with  a  burly  scoff; 

'  I  said  that  wine  thy  lips  shall  never  redden  , 
Say  that  it  shall,  and  prove  both  fool  and  liar  ; 
Drink,  and  I  am  thy  slave  : 

If  thou  drink  not,  I  claim  thee,  then,  as  mine.' 

At  the  buffoon  effrontery  of  this  outcast. 
Bearding  the  priest  whose  looks  had  awed  Achilles, 
Mirth  seized  on  every,  guest ; 

With  one  huge  laughter  all  the  banquet  pealed  : 


I04  Lost  Talcs  of  Milehts. 

The  Trojan  slaves  caught  the  infectious  humour, 
And  first,  since  Ilion  fell,  relaxed  to  laughter ; 
The  carvers  dropped  the  steel, 

The  players  the  flute,  holding  their  shaken  sides. 

As  Calchas,  striving  hard  at  self-composure, 
Lifted  the  cup,  he  eyed  the  unmoved  vagrant 
Amid  the  general  mirth 

Grave  as,  by  starlings  mocked,  Athene's  owl. 

And  quite  unable  longer  to  be  solemn, 
The  seer  burst  forth  in  laughter  yet  more  headstrong 
For  effort  to  restrain, 

And  as  he  laughed  his  face  grew  purple-flushed  ; 

And  his  frame  rocked,  as  one  w^ho  feels  an  earthquake ; 
And  from  his  right  hand  fell,  unsipped,  the  wine-cup  ; 
And,  when  all  else  were  hushed. 

Still  he  laughed  on  ;  striving  to  groan,  he  laughed  : 

And  as  the  guests,  smit  with  strange  fear,  came  round  him, 
Gasping  and  choked,  he  fell  to  earth  ;  and  touching 
The  vagrant's  feet,  laughed  out 

'  The  greater  soothsayer's  found  !'     So  Calchas  died. 


VX'C't^ 


THE    OREAD'S    SON: 

•    A    LEGEND    OF    SICILY. 


E  2 


The  beautiful  legends  which  furnish  the  subject  of  this  ston',  once  so  famous 
that  Ovid  in  his  '  Metamorphoses'  (lib.  iv.)  considers  it  too  well  known  to  repeat, 
are  told  with  some  variations  by  different  authorities :  Diodorus,  iElian,  Servius 
(ad  Virg.  Eel.),  &c.  Parthenius,  c.  xxix.,  tells  the  tale  with  his  usual  laconic  dry- 
ness. It  is  said  to  have  been  the  favourite  theme  of  Stesichorus.  To  the  hero  of 
the  romance,  Daphnis,  Sicilian  traditions  accord  ths  fame  due  to  the  inventor  of 
Bucolic  poetry. 


/^N  lawns  and  river  banks  in  Sicily 

Slaepherds  first  heard — ^I  speak  of  times  remote- 
A  sound  of  wondrous  charm, 

Voice  nor  of  man  nor  bird  ;  we  call  it  Music. 

Lured  by  the  sound,  the  curious  rustics  tracked 
The  source  it  flowed  from,  thro'  the  liquid  air. 
To  swards  with  hyacinths  lush. 

Where  a  boy  sate  alone  beneath  the  ilex, 


Breathing  a  soul  into  the  hollow  reed ; 
Around  him  grazed  flocks  white  of  fleece  as  those 
Which  heard  Apollo's  call 

In  fields  Thessalian  trodden  by  Alcestis. 


As  near  to  manhood's  beauty  was  the  boy's 
As,  in  the  hour  when  drowsy  violets  wake, 
The  pure  star  of  the  morn 

Nears  to  the  sun  ere  lost  in  ampler  glory. 


1 08  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Much  manxlling,  spoke  the  shepherds  to  the  youth, 
Who,  at  their  voice,  his  fluten  music  ceased, 
And  answered  soft  and  low  ; 

But  theirs  not  his,  and  his  was  not  their  language. 


So  that,  divining  but  by  sign  his  will. 
They  left  him,  deeming,  in  their  simple  awe, 
That,  son  of  some  strange  prince. 

His  voice  could  call  armed  men  if  he  were  angered. 

Oft-heard  but  seldom  seen,  the  alien  boy 
There  lingered,  haunting  dell,  and  glade,  and  rill , 
And  morn,  and  noon,  and  eve, 

The  breeze  of  his  sweet  pipings  gladdened  heaven. 

And,  as  the  presence  of  the  music-breath 
Fused  its  sweet  soul  into  Sicilian  air, 
A  gentler  nature  moved 

Thro'  the  rude  listeners  ;  love,  before  brute  instinct. 

Became  man's  struggle  to  approach  the  gods  ; 
And  as  a  god  itself,  rebuking  force, 
Demanded  dulcet  prayers. 

Attuned  to  imitate  the  alien's  music. 


The  Oread's  Son:   a  Legend  of  Sicily.   109 

Meanwhile,  unconscious  of  his  own  soft  charm, 
The  stranger  piped  but  to  his  careless  flocks. 
And  ofttimes  sighed  to  think 

That  he  with  men  had  found  no  speech  in  common. 


One  summer  noon,  as  thus  he  thought,  thus  sighed 
By  the  cool  fount  of  forest-shadowed  waves, 
In  his  own  native  tongue 

The  voice  of  one  invisible  made  answer  : 

'  Why  dost  thou  pine  to  know  the  speech  of  men, 
Uttering  complaint  in  language  of  the  gods  ? 
And  from  what  amaranth  bowers 

Strayest  thou  lone  adown  the  gloom  of  forests  ?' 

Startled,  he  gazed  around,  and  guessed  not  whence, 
From  wood,  or  wave,  or  air,  those  accents  came ; 
But  as  a  man  gives  voice 

To  his  own  thought,  and,  hearing  it,  replieth. 

So  he  addressed  the  unseen  questioner  : 
'  Who,  and  whate'er  thou  art,  'mid  races  pure. 
Which,  in  this  world  of  m^n, 

Have  world  their  own,  whereof  they  hold  the  portals, 


iio  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Opening  or  closing  as  they  list — come  forth, 
Be  my  companion  in  these  solitudes, 
Enter  my  void  of  life, 

As  in  this  hollow  reed  there  enters  music' 


Scarce  had  he  said,  when  all  the  fountain  stirred. 
And  from  it  rose  a  mist  of  starry  spray. 
Arched  o'er  with  iris  hues 

Veiling  the  sun,  and  with  a  luminous  dimness 

Snatching  from  sight  the  outward  world  beyond ; 
It  cleared  away ;  and,  lo,  beside  him  sate 
An  image  woman-fair. 

Fair  less  as  substance  than  as  dream  of  beauty. 

Her  paly  locks  white  water-lilies  starred. 
Her  dewy  robes  flowed  undulous  as  waves. 
And  in  her  smile  the  light 

Shone  chill  as  shines  the  Hyad  through  the  shower. 

Yet  in  her  looks  was  gentleness  serene. 
Waking  no  passion,  or  of  love  or  fear. 
But  falling  on  his  soul 

Tender  as  falls  the  pure  kiss  of  a  sister. 


The  Oread's  Son :   a  Legend  of  Sicily.   1 1 1 

And  his  heart  opened  to  his  new-found  friend  • 
She  in  her  new-found  friend  placed  equal  trust ; 
And  all  that  summer  noon, 

Side  by  side  seated,  they  exchanged  confidings. 

Brief  told  her  tale  :  her  race  the  Water-Nymph's, 
Goddess  of  earth,  yet  privileged  to  commune 
With  powers  that  dwell  in  heaven, 

Seeking  with  theirs  to  assimilate  her  being, 

And  be  partaker  of  their  tranquil  bliss  ; 
Glassing  in  dreams  Selene's  silver  calm, 
Or  with  light's  soul  ensouled, 

When  flushed  by  Helios  all  her  wavelets  trembled. 

'  I,'  said  the  youth, '  am  riddle  to  myself. 
And  when  I  would  remember,  oft  I  guess. 
Under  the  Hill  of  Fire, 

In  a  green  valley,  bowered  around  with  laurels 

'  That  walled  it  from  the  world,  my  childhood  passed 
Where  never  winter  robbed  of  leaves  a  rose. 
Forms  which  no  likeness  have 

To  those  beheld  since  I  have  left  that  valley, 


1 1 2  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Sported  around  me  with  strange  harmless  mirth, 
Goat-hoofed,  and  shaggy-haired,  with  human  faces, 
And  one,  of  these  the  lord 

(We  called  him  Pan),  taught  me  this  reed,  and  gave  it. 

'  At  times  there  came  down  from  the  burning  hill 
A  woman-form,  like  thine,  nymph-beautiful, 
Yet  more  than  thine  distinct, 

Fresh  with  warm  life  as  the  first  morn  of  summer. 

For  she  was  of  the  Oread's  buxom  race, 
That  haunt  the  hill  tops  nearest  to  the  sun, 
Embrowned  with  hardy  bloom  ; 

Loose  oak  leaves  rippling  in  her  russet  tresses. 

And  she  would  fondle  me  in  her  strong  arms, 
And  rock  to  sleep  with  gusty  lullabies, 
Like  winds  that  sing  to  night 

Thro'  pines  and  rocky  caves.    I  called  her  "  Mother." 

So  I  grew  up,  and  of  this  mortal  race 
Knew  nought,  save  that  my  mother  and  the  Fauns 
Would,  when  they  thought  I  slept, 

Mourn  that  I  was  not  of  themselves,  but  mortal. 


The  OreacTs  Son :   a  Legend  of  Sicily.   1 1 3 

'  A  child  no  longer,  on  the  verge  of  youth, 
Six  moons  agone,  I  stood  amid  a  glade 
Watching  the  lurid  sparks 

Shot  from  the  mount  of  fire  beyond  the  laurels, 

'  When  sudden  dropped,  as  from  a  passing  cloud. 
On  the  green  turf,  with  feet  that  made  no  sound, 
Fronting  me  where  I  stood, 

A  shape  of  glory  ringed  with  quivering  halo. 

' "  Fear  not,"  he  said,  and  from  his  smile  a  ray 
Lit  up  the  laurels.     "  Me  thou  dost  not  know ; 
Thee  I  have  known,  ere  yet 

Thy  lids  were  kissed  from  slumber  by  thy  mother. 

' "  The  time  has  come  to  quit  these  swards  obscure, 
And  take  high  rank  in  the  large  world  of  man. 
They  who  may  not  be  gods, 

May  yet  by  aid  of  gods  become  immortals. 

' "  Know  me  as  Hermes  !  messenger  between 
Zeus  and  all  life  wherein  there  breathes  a  soul ; 
And  aught  on  earth  by  thee 

Coveted  most,  my  power  can  compass.     Listen." 


1 1 4  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

•  Therewith  the  god  extolled  the  state  of  kings, 
Whose  words  were  laws,  whose  very  looks  were  fates. 
Of  heroes,  too,  he  spoke. 

Breaking  on  rock-like  breast  the  surge  of  battle  : 


'  "  Such  are  the  men,"  he  said, "  who  by  wise  rule 
Or  peerless  deeds  have  bafifled  even  Styx, 
And  after  death  still  live 

As  names  on  earth,  and  some  as  stars  in  heaven. 

'  "  Of  these  be  one  or  both — a  Hero-king !" 

I  answered  "  Nay,"  and  hung  my  head  for  shame. 
Mildly  resumed  the  god. 

Touching  my  reed,  "  Blest,  too,  life's  music-givers !' 

'  And  as  he  spoke,  there  flashed  into  his  hand 
A  shell  like  instrument,  with  golden  strings  : 
"  They  in  whose  hands  this  lyre 

Speaks  to  the  nations,  reign  as  kings  for  ever." 

'  So  saying,  carelessly  he  swept  the  chords, 
And  the  lyre  spoke ;  spoke  as  if  all  the  thoughts, 
Passions,  and  powers,  and  dreams. 

Coiled  in  the  brain,  or  smouldering  in  the  bosom. 


The  Oread's  Son:    a  Legend  of  Sici/y.   115 

'  Had  found  long-pined-for  egress. — As  a  bird 
Caged  from  its  birtli  content,  abruptly  hears 
One  on  wings  poised  in  heaven, 

Blending  with  day's  its  own  melodious  gladness, 

'  And  wakes  at  once  to  sense  of  light  and  song ; 
So,  as  from  space  remote,  unto  my  soul 
Came  the  god's  music  clown  ; 

Yet  the  joy  made  me  weep — I  felt  my  prison. 

^ 

'  When  the  god  ceased,  I  flung  away  the  reed. 
"Give  me  the  lyre,"  I  said.     "  My  choice  is  made." 
He  smiled  and  gave  it  me  ; 

And  to  my  hands  the  strings  denied  all  music. 

'  "  Comfort !"  said  Hermes,  with  yet  kindlier  smile, 
"  And  learn  the  art  now  that  thou  hast  the  lyre  ; 
Its  sound  is  as  the  tide 

Swelled  from  a  sea  wherein  have  melted  rivers. 


'  "  To  him  who  makes  the  lyre  interpret  life 
Innumerous  lives  converging  sum  his  own, 
Joy,  sorrow,  hope,  and  fear. 

Banquets  and  battles,  love  in  calm  and  tempest. 


ii6  Lost  Tales  of  Milehts. 

'  "  Paeans  of  triumph,  solemn  hymns  to  Zeus, 
Groans  waihng  up  from  gulfs  in  Tartarus, 
Meet  in  the  music-shell, 

Fashioned  by  Heaven's  wing'd  herald  for  Apollo. 

'  "  Go — love,  and  err,  and  suffer  ; — hear  the  sounds. 
That  clash  in  dissonance  where  throng  mankind. 
And  then  in  grove  or  grot 

Blend  all  the  discords  as  creation  blends  them  ■ 

'  "  And  so  the  lyre  becomes  creation's  voice." 
"  Mine  not,"  I  cried  in  words  half  choked  with  tears, 
"  The  gift  so  dearly  bought ! 

Mine  be  the  music  leaflets  take  from  Zephyr, 

'  "  Or  rills  from  fountains  tinkling  down  their  falls ; 
Born  of  the  mountain  Nymph,  and  reared  by  Fauns  ; 
Mine  be  the  reed  of  Pan, 

Needing  no  discords  to  complete  its  music !" 

'  "  Not  so,"  replied  the  god,  with  sterner  voice, 
"  For  thou  art  more  than  child  of  mountain  nj'mph  ; 
Thy  father  treads  the  heaven. 

And  thine  no  lot.  that  levels  thee  with  shepherds. 


The  Oj^ead's  Son:   a  Legend  of  Sicily.    117 

■'  Meditate  destinies  of  loftier  height, 
And  when  thy  soul  has  stored  within  itself 
Thoughts  that  would  snap  the  reed, 

There,  where  he  leads,  prepare  to  follow  Hermes.'' 


'  He  said,  and  o'er  the  sward  a  silvery  cloud 
Wavered  and  rose  ;  the  god  had  passed  away  : 
Then  from  the  grass  I  snatched 

The  reed,  and  kissed  and  hid  it  in  my  bosom. 

'  And  starting  from  the  lyre  with  swerving  spring 
As  from  the  baleful  beauty  of  a  snake, 
I  sought,  precipitant, 

The  grot  of  Pan,  deep  amid  fir-trees  hidden. 

'  And  telling  him,  with  many  a  sob,  my  tale. 
And  all  my  terror,  lest  compelled  to  part 
With  my  beloved  reed. 

On  his  rough  lap  he  seated  me  and  fondled, 

'  And  with  a  burly  laugh,  "  Ho,  ho,"  quoth  he, 
"  Would  Hermes  rob  me  of  my  foster-son  ? 
Spurns  he  the  pipe  that  first 

Unlocked  the  melody  his  skill  but  mimics? 


1 1 8  Lost  Tales  of  Miletns. 

*  "Long  ere  the  earth  knew  heroes,  kings,  and  wars, 
Winds  sighed  thro'  reeds,  and  Pan  and  Music  were. 
Thou  must  know  mortals  ;  true, 

But  as  my  pupil ;  follow  me,  musician." 

'  Then  thro'  the  length  of  caves  he  led  me  on,  ' 

Till  gained  an  archway  opening  on  man's  world. 
And,  clear  in  lusty  day. 

Meadow  and  dale  and  woodland  stretched  to  ocean. 


"  Go  forth,"  he  said  ;  "  rove  freely  at  thy  will. 
Where  bleat  the  flocks,  where  carol  the  wild  birds. 
Men,  when  they  hear  thy  reed, 

Shall  whisper, '  Hark !  a  new-born  sound  from  Nature !' 

*  So  lone  I  went  out  into  sun-bathed  lawns  ; 
And  flocks,  there  nestled,  rose  and  followed  me  ; 
Fed  on  their  milk,  and  fruits, 

As,  day  by  day,  along  my  path  they  mellowed, 

'  And,  couched  on  moss  and  wild-flowers  under  stars, 
Have  I  thus  lived  and  shunned  the  haunts  of  men, 
Yet,  lately,  being  man, 

Pined  for  companion  ; — I  have  found  thee,  sister.' 


The  OreacTs  Son :   a  Legend  of  Sicily.   1 1 9 

'  So  then,'  replied,  in  pausing  long,  the  Nymph, 
'  Thou'rt  not,  as  when  I  heard  thee  first,  I  deemed, 
Free  from  the  lot  of  those 

Who  tlit  beside  my  waters  into  Hades  ;     « 


*  But,  born  since  man  brought  death  into  the  world, 
The  Mother-Nymph  transmits  not  to  her  son 
Her  portion  in  the  life 

Which  beautifies  the  universe  for  ever. 


'  Since  it  is  so,  fair  youth,  companions  seek 
In  those  who,  conscious  of  their  fleeting  hours, 
Snatch  with  impatient  hand 

At  every  bud  with  which  an  hour  may  blossom. 

'  There  is  no  human  blood  in  my  pure  veins  ; 
There  is  no  human  throb  in  my  still  heart ; 
Thou  wilt  need  human  love, 

The  water-spirit  loves  but  as  a  spirit. 

'  Nay,  hear  me  farther,  and  at  least  be  warned 
Of  what  awaits  the  mortal  having  won 
To  his  own  side  at  will 

One  of  the  Naiad-sisterhood  of  fountains, 


1 20  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Who  then  deserts  the  partner  of  his  soul 
For  the  warm  light  in  mortal  maiden's  eye  ; — 
For  him,  the  Eumenides 

Make  this  cold  nymph  stern  as  themselves  in  vengeance. 


'  Shun,  then,  my  fountain  ;  wake  me  not  again  • 
From  the  calm  depths  to  which  I  now  return.' 
And  from  his  side  she  slid 

Melting,  as  melts  a  snowflake,  in  the  waters. 

The  youth  went  desolate  and  musing  back 
Where  now  from  coverts  they  had  sought  at  noon, 
His  flock  came  forth  to  graze 

On  pastures  cool  with  shadow  from  the  mountains. 

Hesper  arose,  the  shepherd's  guardian  star. 
Bringing  the  hour  when  sweetest  sounds  the  reed  : 
But  the  flocks  wistful  stood 

Missing  the  wonted  sound  ;  the  reed  was  silent. 


And  slumber  fell  not  on  his  lids  that  night  ; 
The  Naiad's  face  gleamed  on  him  from  the  stars. 
And,  at  the  burst  of  day,' 

Again  the  rash  one  stood  beside  the  fountain, 


The  OreacCs  Son :   a  Legend  of  Sicily.   1 2 1 

Saying, '  My  soul  needs  honeyed  food  from  thine, 
Bees  follow  thyme,  and  all  mine  instincts  thee  : 
Thy  very  threat  is  sweet, 

For  thou  wouldst  love  me  couldst  thou  stoop  to  vengeance. 


Oft  from  that  mom  the  awe-stricken  herdsmen  saw, 
When  following  up  steep  crags  some  hardier  goat 
Strayed  from  their  flocks — below 

Seated  on  mossed  banks,  or  slowly  gliding 

Where,  with  dark  pine  commingling  silvery  leaves, 
Quivered  the  poplar,  side  by  side  two  forms  ; 
And  in  the  one  they  knew 

The  stranger  youth,  but  who  and  what  the  other  ? 

The  seasons  rolled,  and  still  the  Oread's  son 
Communed,  contented,  with  the  Fountain  Nymph, 
Learning  from  her  kind  lips 

Mysteries  occult,  once  simple  truths  in  common 

To  the  first  race  in  the  wise  Golden  Age  ; 
Language  of  bird  and  beast,  and  tree  and  flower, 
So  passed  into  his  reed 

Strains  heard  by  gods  ere  Zeus  yet  reigned  on  Ida. 

F 


122  Lost  Tales  of  Mile  his. 

But  when  his  life  waxed  from  the  budding  leaf 
Into  the  crown  of  manhood's  regal  flower. 
Again  he  felt  alone, 

And  loneliest  most  when  seated  by  the  Naiad. 

Now  in  those  parts  of  Sicily  there  reigned 
An  aged  king,  to  whom  the  fates  had  spared 
But  one  fair  woman-child, 

To  whose  slight  hand  he  half  resigned  his  sceptre. 


And  she  had  many  suitors  ;  favouring  none, 
Yet,  with  a  seeming  favour,  duping  all ; 
Of  thoughts  and  fancies  light 

As  May-leaves  wavering  between  sun  and  shadow. 

And  ever  seeking  after  pleasures  new. 
Settling  on  phantasies,  now  gay,  now  grave, 
And  quitting  each  in  turn, 

Restless  as  flits  the  moth  beneath  the  moonbeam. 

To  this  fair  princess,  Glauce  was  her  name. 
Floated  strange  stories  of  the  Shepherd  youth. 
Dwelling  apart  from  men, 

With  whom  he  had  no  language  save  his  music. 


The  Oreacfs  So?i:    a  Legend  of  Sicily.   123 

And  she  sent  forth  her  messengers  and  guards 
To  track  his  haunts  and  bring  him  to  her  court, 
And,  one  ill-omened  day, 

They  found  and  led  him  to  her  glittering  presence. 


And  when  she  gazed  upon  his  blooming  face. 
Flushed  to  becoming  wrath  at  violence  done, 
The  heart  of  Glauce  stirred  ; 

He  charmed  her  eyes,  and  her  eyes  sought  to  charm  him. 

Silvering  her  speech  into  its  blandest  tones. 
She  soothed  him,  not  by  language,  yet  by  voice-, 
And  guessing  by  her  signs 

That  wish  to  hear  his  reed  had  caused  his  capture, 

Upon  the  reed  he  breathed,  and  music  woke ; 
She,  hearing,  said, '  This  melody  talks  love.' 
And  from  her  rose-crown  took 

Bud,  newest-blown,  and  gave  it  as  her  answer. 

And  so,  between  the  music  and  the  flowers. 
Language  in  common  grew  between  the  two. 
And  what  was  left  obscure. 

Little  by  little,  eyes  soon  learned  to  utter. 


124  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

And  the  Nymph's  son  taught  not  the  mortal  maid 
The  speech  of  gods  :  to  him  her  own  she  taught ; 
And,  with  her  mortal  speech, 

Delight  in  mortal  joys  which  gods  might  envy. 


Captive  no  more,  too  willing  guest  he  stayed. 
Linking  bright  moments  varied  as  her  whim  ; 
Now,  on  the  noontide  sea. 

By  her  sweet  side,  beneath  Egyptian  awnings ; 

Now,  at  the  cool  of  dawn,  on  forest-slopes, 
Startling  the  deer  in  coverts  gemmed  with  dews  \ 
Now,  hailing  starry  night 

With  Lesbian  cups  in  Lydian  dances  closing. 

As  a  lark  poised  in  orient  heaven  forgets 
The  ripples  of  the  corn-field  whence  it  rose, 
Forgets  its  lowly  nest. 

And  hath  no  sense  of  life  save  joy  and  glory, 

So  from  the  shepherd's  soul  evanished 
His  former  life  ;  the  laurel  vale  of  Pan  ; 
Meek  flocks  and  grassy  dales  ; 

And  the  pale  beauty  of  the  fount's  calm  Spirit. 


The  Oread's  So7i:   a  Legend  of  Sicily.   125 

He  in  his  love-dream,  as  the  lark  in  heaven, 
Hung  over  time,  hushed  in  the  golden  hour. 
And  his  god-given  reed 

Merged  all  its  notes  in  one  voluptuous  measure. 


One  morn,  just  as  the  leaflets  change  their  hues, 
When  great  Orion  setting  threatens  ships  ; 
'\Vh,en  mists  delay  the  dawn, 

And  the  first  snows  fall  feather-like  on  hill-peaks ; 

From  that  deep  slumber  following  festive  hours 
Woke  the  Nymph's  son.    His  chamber  stretched  between 
The  silenced  banquet-hall 

And  roofless  peristyle,  where  languid  roses    . 

• 

Late  lingering,  circled  a  clear  fountain-jet 
Sent  heavenward,  breaking,  for  the  flowers  around. 
All  mirror  in  a  wave 

Which  broke  itself  to  soar  above  the  roses. 


At  either  hand  stood  open  the  tall  doors, 
But  partly  draped  by  woofs  of  Phr)'gian  looms  ; 
And  from  the  morn-lit  fount 

His  eyes  turned  towards  the  drearier  hall  of  banquet. 


126  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

There  lay  the  wrecks  of  the  last  night's  gone  joys, 
Goblets  cast  clown  ;  moist  wine-stains  on  dull  floors  ; 
Limp  blossoms  with  sick  scent, 

Kissed  from  flushed  brows  away  by  hardy  lovers  ; 

And  here  and  there  still  stniggled  thro'  the  shade, 
The  mournful  flicker  of  a  ghastly  lamp  ; 
All  things  of  pleasure  spoke 

As  of  a  life  departed  speaks  a  charnel. 

And  with  a  shuddering  and  foreboding  chill 
The  Oread's  son  recoiled,  and  bent  his  looks 
Where  slumbered  by  his  side. 

One  white  arm  round  his  neck,  the  Isle-king's  daughter ; 

Her  locks  of  dusky  gold  streamed  wanderingly 
From  the  green  tangles  of  their  myrtle  crown. 
Over  the  tranquil  heave 

Of  breasts  whereon  Dione's  doves  might  nestle. 


'ts' 


Never,  he  thought,  she  looked  so  beautiful 
As  in  the  cold  light  of  that  autumn  dawn ; 
And,  kissing  her  closed  lips, 

He  murmured, 'Wake,  and  give  my  world  its  morrow!' 


The  Oread^s  Son:   a  Legend  of  Sicily.   127 

And  still  she  slept ;  then  from  his  neck  he  loosed 
The  coil  of  her  soft  arms  ;  and  her  rose-palm 
Pressing  in  his,  he  cried 

In  louder  tone, '  Awake  !  return  these  kisses.' 


And  she  slept  still ;  then  sudden  on  his  soul 
There  came  a  sense  of  some  strong  Presence  dread ; 
Some  Power  unseen,  unheard. 

Filling  the  space  with  unconjectured  terror. 

As  when  in  forest-solitudes  a  bird 
Halts  trembling  on  the  spray  it  lit  upon, 
Fettered  by  sudden  fear, 

Till  the  snake's  eye  grows  out  from  the  mute  covert, 

So  with  blanched  cheek,  and  lifted  hair,  the  youth 
Felt  an  approaching  Fate : — Pale  from  the  spray 
Of  the  flower-circled  fount 

Came  gradual  forth  a  slow  reluctant  image  ; 

And  towards  him,  noiseless,  moved  the  Water  Nymph. 
Then  breaking  from  his  awe,  he,  with  rude  hand, 
Shook  the  warm  woman-shape 
That  slumbered  at  his  side,  and  shrieked  '  Awake ! 


128  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  O  living  partner  of  my  living  self, 
With  human  arms  shelter  my  human  heart ; 
She  comes — the  immortal  foe 

Of  mortal  joy  ! — Love's  death  is  in  her  aspect !' 

Still  slept  the  Princess,  still  moved  on  the  Nymph, 
Moving  as  moves  the  wave  of  a  slow  tide, 
With  face  serenely  sad 

In  that  compassion  wherein  dwells  not  mercy ; 

From  her  pale  lips  came,  not  into  his  ear, 
But  to  his  innermost  soul,  a  ghost-like  voice. 
Saying, '  Accuse  me  not. 

But  the  Eumenides.     Alas  my  brother  !' 

And  as  when  some  bleak  wind  from  Thracian  skies 
Suddenly  takes  into  its  cold  embrace 
A  flower  which  Spring  too  soon 

Lures  into  bloom  upon  unsheltered  Haemus, 

Around  his  neck  there  coiled  a  freezing:  aiTn, 
And  on  his  eyelids  fell  a  blighting  kiss. 
Still  the  fair  sleeper  slept. 

But  all  the  myrtles  in  her  garland  shivered. 


I 


The  Oread'' s  Son:    a  Legend  of  Sicily.   129 

Back  to  the  fountain  noiseless  moved  the  nymph, 
As  moves  the  wave  when  the  slow  tide  recedes  ; 
So  from  the  Oread's  son 

She  and  Heaven's  sunlight  passed  ;  her  kiss  had  blinded. 

And  Glauce  woke,  and  clasped  him  in  her  arms, 
And  he  said,  drearily, '  I  see  thee  not ! 
The  beauty  of  thy  bloom 

Is  lost  to  me  for  ever  and  for  ever. 


'  And  with  thy  beauty  so  has  gone  my  love, 
As  a  flame  burns  not  when  the  light  is  quenched. 
This  doom  is  from  the  gods  : 

I  blame  thee  not  that  thou  hast  brought  it  on  me. 

'  But,  by  the  memory  of  fond  moments  past. 
Do  what  I  pray  thee  ;  hither  call  thy  slaves, 
And  let  them  lead  my  steps 

Back  to  the  place  whence  I  was  borne  a  captive.' 

Amazed  and  awed  the  Princess  heard  his  speech, 
Gazing  upon  the  film  of  lightless  eyes 
Lately  dart-filled  with  love, 

Now  blank  as  quivers  vacant  of  their  arrows. 

F2 


1 30  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

And,  sliding  from  the  couch,  she  called  her  slaves. 
And  bade  them  summon  the  chief  soothsaying  priest, 
By  whose  divining  lore 

Might  yet  return  to  those  dark  eyes  her  beauty. 


The  soothsayer  came  and  by  the  blind  man  stood, 
Closing  the  chamber  from  all  ears  profane ; 
Questioned,  and  heard,  and  mused, 

Then  left,  and,  seeking  Glauce,  said  grave-visaged  ; 

'  In  breasts  immortal  direst  angers  dwell ; 
Thy  charms  have  won  her  lover  from  a  Nymph  : 
Not  on  thyself  draw  down 

The  wrath  as  yet  restricted  to  the  lover. 

'  Yield  to  the  youth's  request,  and  from  these  halls 
Straightway  send  forth  what  kept  would  work  thy  woe.' 
Letting  some  few  tears  fall, 

The  Princess  sighed, '  Appease  we  the  Immortals.' 

So  the  slaves  led  from  out  the  regal  gates. 
Back  to  the  lawns  shadowed  by  fading  wolds, 
Where  still  his  tranquil  flocks 

Grazed,  the  blind  Shepherd ;  and  there  left  him  friendless. 


The  Oread'' s  Son:   a  Legend  of  Sicily.   131 

They  left  him  with  his  reed  in  the  still  noon, 
Alone  amid  the  invisible  wide  world, 
Alone,  with  his  sweet  reed, 

And  thro'  the  invisible  wide  world  thrilled  music. 


Again  the  shepherds  heard  the  strain  long-missed. 
And  held  their  breath  to  hear ;  plaintive  and  low 
As  is  the  ringdove's  coo 

That  lulls  Pelasgic  virgins  in  Dodona, 

The  gentle  prelude  stole  to  human  hearts  ; 
Anon  the  burden  changed,  the  music  swelled, 
Joy,  sorrow,  hope,  and  fear, 

Battles  and  banquets,  love  in  calm  and  tempest, 

Paeans  of  triumph,  solemn  hymns  to  Zeus, 
Groans  wailing  up  from  giilfs  in  Tartarus, 
Met  in  the  reed,  which  Pan, 

Ensouling  Nature,  gave  the  son  of  Hermes. 

Abrupt  the  music  ceased  ;  with  a  sharp  sigh, 
In  the  unwonted  strain  the  reed  had  burst. 
And  the  poor  blind  man  stood 

Lone  on  an  earth  without  a  link  to  heaven. 


132  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

As  the  swan  knows  that  its  completed  song 
Is  its  own  death-dirge  ;  and,  with  drooping  crest, 
Drifts  to  some  shadowy  creek. 

Where,  seen  no  more,  around  it  close  the  sedges, 

So  in  the  music  which  had  burst  his  reed. 
The  blind  man  felt  that  he  had  summed  his  life  ; 
And,  turning  towards  the  West, 

As  by  some  hand  diviner  safely  guided, 

Adown  the  rock-path  to  the  Naiad's  well, 
Sightless  he  passed,  with  still  unerring  tread, 
And  halted  on  a  ledge  ; 

Void  air  between  his  footing  and  the  fountain ; 

Air,  that  buoys  up  the  eagle  to  the  sun, 
Yet  drops  an  ant  that  hath  not  gained  its  wings  ; 
There  standing,  the  blind  man 

Lifted  his  voice,  and  cried, '  Again,  lost  Sister, 

'  Speak  to  me  in  the  language  of  the  gods ! 
I  have  lived,  I  have  loved,  I  have  suffered,  I  have  placed 
Faith  in  a  broken  reed  ; 

There  ends  man's  language  as  expressed  by  music. 


The  Oread's  Son:   a  Legend  of  Sicily.   133 

Thyjciss  hath  killed  the  beauty  of  all  else, 
To  make  thine  own  more  life-like  to  my  soul ; 
Sister,  I  see  thy  face. 

See  the  cool  lilies  glisten  round  thy  dwelling ; 


'  Where,  underneath  the  waves  which  know  no  storm, 
Blooms  shun  the  day,  and  open  to  the  stars ; 
O  take  me  to  thy  rest. 

Kiss  back  these  lids  to  light  beneath  thy  waters.' 

« 

Then  all  the  fount  from  depth  to  margent  stirred. 
And  floated  up  thro'  air  a  silvery  voice, 
'  Child  of  the  Oread,  come  ; 

I'll  cull  my  starriest  lilies  for  thy  garlands ; 

'  And  back  to  light  unearthly  kiss  thy  lids. 
Come  ;  on  my  banks  there  murmur  sweeter  reeds 
Than  breath  could  ever  break, 

Needing  no  discords  to  complete  their  music' 

'  I  come,'  he  said,  and  leapt;  pale  gleaming  arms 
Received,  and  drew  him  down  to  azure  deeps, 
Where,  say  Sicilian  myths. 

He  and  the  Nymph  form  one  pure  soul  for  ever. 


1 34  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

And  later  bards  revered  the  Shepherd  boy,  ^ 

As  the  first  sire  of  Nature-prompted  Art ; 
And  by  his  name  is  called 

The  fount  where  Hermes  joined  him  with  the  Naiad. 


For  many  an  age,  with  each  returning  spring, 
To  him  were  offered  tributary  flowers. 
And  songs  which  still  retained. 

In  haunted  ears,  notes  from  the  reed  of  Daphnis. 


THE    WIFE    OF    MILETUS. 


This  story  is  found  in  the  '  Erotics'  of  Partheniiis. 


I 


TN  that  dread  time  when  Gaul  her  ravening  swarms 
Launched  upon  Greece,  the  Matrons  of  Miletus, 
Honouring  the  yearly  rites  of  Artemis, 

With  songs  and  offerings,  gathered  to  the  temple 

That  stands  unwalled,  six  stadia  from  the  town ; 

And,  in  the  midst  of  their  melodious  hymnings, 
A  barbarous  band  down  from  the  mountains  swooped 

Sudden  as  sw^oops  on  clustered  doves  the  eagle. 

"Wlien  with  their  spoil  the  Gauls  resought  their  land, 
Freeing  a  Greek  of  rank  whom  they  had  captured, 

They  sent  him  to  Miletus,  with  these  words, 
'  The  Gauls  in  war  respect  the  nuptial  altars, 

'  And  accept  ransom,  paid  within  a  year. 

For  the  fair  captives  seized  within  your  temple. 
Their  honour  sacred  till  the  year  expire, 

But  if  unransomed  then — the  slaves  of  conquest. 


1 38  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Each  Greek,  who  comes  with  ransom  for  his  wife, 
Safe  as  a  herald  when  he  cross  our  borders  ; 
Hervor  the  Celt,  in  the  Massalian  port. 

Will  to  all  seekers  give  instruction  needful.' 

Milesian  husbands  heard  and  answered  '  Good  !' 
Yet  made  no  haste  to  profit  by  the  message. 

The  way  was  long,  of  dire  repute  the  Gaul, 
Few  foxes  trust  the  honour  of  the  lion ; 

And,  as  no  sum  was  fixed,  'twere  treasure  lost 
To  take  too  much — pains  lost  to  take  too  little. 

Among  these  widowed  spouses,  one  alone, 
Xanthus,  although  his  lost  delight,  Erippe, 

Had  with  no  dowry  swelled  his  slender  means, 

Prized  his  wife  more  than  misers  prize  their  coffers ; 

And  that  the  ransom  might  not  fall  too  short. 

He  sold  his  house,  his  herds,  his  fields,  and  vineyards  ; 

And  having  thus  converted  into  coin 

His  all,  and  all  compared  with  her  seemed  nothing, 
He  sailed  for  Gaul  to  buy  the  priceless  back ; 

Reaching  the  seaport  founded  by  Phocasa, 


The  Wife  of  Miletus.  1 39 

He  learnt  Erippe's  whereabout,  and,  led 

By  a  Celt  guide  across  the  Gaul's  wild  borders, 

Paused  at  the  cone-shaped  palace  of  a  chief 
Lifted  to  rule  upon  the  shields  of  battle. 


There,  at  the  door^the  Greek  beheld  his  wife 
Carding  the  wool  for  her  barbarian  captor. 

Joy,  joy !'  he  cried  ;  '  I  see  thee  once  again, 

Freed — save  from  love,  for  I  have  brought  the  ransom.' 

And  while,  with  kisses  broken  by  his  sobs, 

He  clasped  her  to  his  breast,  out  strode  the  Chieftain, 

Roused  by  strange  voices  and  his  barking  dogs. 
Head  taller  than  the  rest  3  his  long  locks  yellowing 

The  cold  clear  air,  with  undulating  gleam  ; 

His  ample  front  serene  with  power  unquestioned, 
A  wolf's-hide  mantle  for  his  robe  of  state  ; 

In  his  right  hand  a  boar-spear  for  a  sceptre. 

Already  versed  in  the  barbarian  tongue, 
Erippe,  breaking  from  her  lord's  embraces, 

Said — '  Lo  my  husband  !  he  hath  crossed  the  seas. 
And  brought,  if  thou  accept  it  still,  my  ransom.' 


140  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

The  Gaul  looked  down  a  moment ;  the  wolfs  hide 
Stirred  with  a  fuller  swell  of  his  strong  life-blood ; 

Then  raising  the  clear  light  of  his  blue  eyes, 

He  stretched  his  vast  hand  o'er  the  brows  of  Xanthus ; 

*  Sacred,'  he  said, '  are  marriage  and  rpan's  hearth ; 

Pass  through  these  doors,  a  guest ;  the  guest  is  sacred.' 
The  guide  by  Hervor  lent,  as  one  who  knew 

The  Grecian  tongue,  explained  these  words  to  Xanthus ; 

For  here,  as  if  by  joy  or  by  surprise 

Quite  overcome,  ErijDpe  trembled  voiceless, 

And,  when  her  lord's  eye  sought  her,  she  was  gone. 
Lost  in  the  inner  labyrinths  of  that  dwelling.     . 

The  Gaul  placed  meats  and  mead  before  his  guest. 
To  whom,  when  thus  refreshed,  he  spoke — '  Milesian, 

Thou  com'st  in  time  while  yet  the  promised  year 
Lacks  a  brief  moon  of  the  completed  circle  ; 

*  Had  the  year  lapsed — the  woman's  face  is  fair. 

And  I  am  wifeless — haply  I  had  loved  her. 
Enough — now  tell  me  what  thy  worldly  wealth. 

And  what  proportion  thou  wouldst  yield  as  ransom .''' 


The  Wife  of  Miletus.  141 

Speaking  thus  thro'  the  interpreter,  the  Greek 
Thro'  the  interpreter  repHed, '  My  father, 

Tho'  nobly  born,  left  me  but  scanty  lands  ; 
These  I  have  sold  in  haste  at  no  slight  losses. 


A  thousand  golden  staters  have  I  brought.' 

More  had  he  said,  the  Gaul  cut  short  the  sentence. 

Hold  there  ;  I  see  thine  is  no  niggard  soul : 
That  which  thou  gainest,  and  I  yield,  has  value 


'  To  be  assessed  according  as  it  seems 

Singled  from  millions,  as  the  world's  one  woman  ; 
'Tis  all  or  nought.     Thou  wouldst  concede  thine  all ; 
I  can  take  nought :  the  fourth  part  is  my  people's, 

'  The  rest  our  law  makes  mine — I  give  it  back. 
Go,  tell  thy  wife  she  is  no  more  my  captive  ; 
The  morrow's  sun  shall  light  ye  homeward  both.' 
Then  by  a  stern-faced  handmaid  to  the  chamber, 

Where  his  wife  waited  him,  the  Greek  was  led. 
And  left  to  tell  Erippe  his  glad  tidings. 
*  How  the  gods  favour  me !     A  kiss  !'  he  cried. 
'  Had  adverse  winds  delayed  my  C}^rian  galley. 


142  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  This  wolf-skin  wearer  says  he  might  have  loved, 
And  made  thee — horror  ! — wife  of  a  barbarian. 
But  be  we  just !  the  savage  hath  a  soul 

Not  found  among  the  traffickers  of  Hellas; 

*  And  of  the  thousand  staters  I  proposed, 

Takes  but  a  fourth  ;  small  ransom  for  Erippe.' 
She,  curious  as  her  sex,  then  made  her  lord 

Tell,  word  by  word,  all  Greek  and  Gaul  had  uttered  ; 

And  having  heard,  cried, '  Thou  hast  lost  us  both  : 
I  know  how  void  thy  chest ;  a  thousand  staters  ! 

Thou  canst  not  have  the  tenth  of  such  a  sum, 

And  when  the  Gaul  detects  thee  in  this  falsehood — ' 

'  Hush  !'  said  the  husband  ;  '  I  have  sold  our  all, 

Our  house,  our  herds,  our  cornfields,  and  our  vineyards ; 
I  named  one  thousand  staters  to  the  Gaul, 

Meaning  to  add,  but  his  impatience  stopped  me, 

"  That  sum  is  half  my  all ;  the  other  half 

Is  also  here,  sewed  up  in  my  slaves'  garments  ; 
If  half  suffice  not,  take  the  whole  !"     These  Gauls 
Guess  not  the  price  at  which  we  Greeks  rate  beauty. 


IThe  Wife  of  Miletus.  143 

'  What !  coy  as  ever?     Well,  I  love  thee  so  !' 

At  early  dawn,  while  yet  her  Xanthus  slumbered. 
She  who  had  slept  not,  slipping  from  his  side. 

Donned  her  silk  robe,  and  sleeked  her  amber  tresses ; 

And  stole,  light-footed,  to  the  outer  door, 

Where,  as  she  knew  his  wont,  with  eyes  fixed  eastward, 
To  greet  his  shrineless  Helios,  stood  the  Gaul. 

Starting,  he  turned,  quick-eared,  to  her  fine  footfall ; 

His  eyes  met  hers.     Were  hers,  then,  danger-fraught, 
That  in  his  strong  right  hand  the  spear-staff  trembled .'' 
'  Seekest  thou  me  ?'  he  said.     '  Yea,  thee !'     '  Alone ! 
Where  is  thy  lord  ?'    '  Still  slumbering  in  yon  chamber.' 

'  What  wouldst  thou  ?'     *  Hist !  a  secret.     Bend  thine  ear, 
Nor  let  thine  aspect  lose  its  wonted  kindness. 
Know  my  base  husband  has  deceived  thee,  Gaul. 
Sewn  in  the  garments  of  his  slaves  is  twofold 

'  The  sum  he  proffered.     Take  that  gold  and  me  ! 
For  him  I  loathe  and  thee  I  love.     O  master, 
Thou  wouldst  have  loved  me  had  not  this  man  come  j 
He  for  his  falsehood  merits  death  :  so  be  it ! 


144  Lost  Tales  of  Miletu^. 

'  Let  one  life  cease  to  stand  between  us  two !' 

As  she  thus  spoke,  the  Gaul  his  wolf-hide  mantle 
Plucked  o'er  his  visage  with  a  sudden  hand, 

And  from  that  veil  his  voice  with  hollow  murmur 


Came  to  her  ear.     '  Is  it  thy  true  thought  speaks  ? 

Mine  the  wife's  love,  and  mine  the  husband's  murder  ?' 
'  If  it  be  murder  to  chastise  a  fraud, 

Love,  to  reach  love,  is  a  divine  destroyer.' 

He  raised  his  looks,  in  wonder  that  the  Gods, 
While  hating  Evil,  clothed  it  in  such  beauty ; 

And  whispered, '  Is  thy  husband  not  my  guest  ? 
Let  me  forget  that  thou  hast  said  this  horror, 

'  Wearing  a  face  in  which,  were  I  thy  lord, 

Singled  from  millions,  blooms  the  world's  one  woman. 
Touch  me  not,  speak  not,  for  thy  touch  and  word 
Alike  are  fire.     Gods  of  the  brave,  forgive  me, 

'  For  I  do  think  that  what  I  feel  is  fear.' 

So  he  shook  off  the  hands  that  clasped  his  mantle. 
And,  striding  thro'  the  doorway,  left  her  lone. 
But  she,  more  bent  on  crime  by  his  rejection, 


The  Wife  of  Milehis.  145 

And  gladdening,  'mid  her  shame,  to  feel  her  power. 
Smiled  and  said, '  Ah  !  he  loves  me,  and  I  conquer ; 

Hath  he  not  owned  my  words  and  touch  are  fire  ?' 
Back  to  the  chamber  where  yet  slept  the  husband 


Snake-like  she  crept,  and  cut  on  yielding  wax 
Words  deep  enough  for  pathway  into  Hades. 

Seeking,  with  Grecian  sophistry  of  guile. 
To  dupe  the  rudeness  of  barbarian  reason. 

She  wrote, '  Thy  guest  be  sacred  in  thy  realm. 
But  at  thy  borders  guest  returns  to  debtor. 

And  if  the  debtor  by  a  lie  repay 

The  generous  creditor's  large-souled  concession, 


'  What  stings  to  wrath  the  generous  like  deceit  ? 
Conduct  us  to  the  frontier ;  there  give  orders 
To  search  the  garments  of  the  Grecian  slaves  ; 
The  fraud  exposed  becomes  thy  clear  acquittal 


'  With  gods  and  men,  for  that  which  sets  me  free ; 
The  vilest  slavery  is  a  hated  wedlock. 
We  Grecian  women  do  not  choose  our  mates. 
Blessed  our  lot  if  loving  him  who  chooses ; 

G 


N 


146  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  If  not,  a  life-long  pining.     Better  death  ! 

But  death  to  whom — the  prisoner  or  the  jailer? 
We  should  be  prophets  could  we  but  divine 

If  the  strange  breast  whereon  our  simple  childhood, 

'  Torn  from  its  stem,  is  tortured  into  graft, 

Hath  life-sap  healthful  to  our  growth  as  woman. 
A  man  was  found  to  wed  me  without  dower. 
He  sells  his  all  to  purchase  back  his  bargain  ; 

'  Never  asked  that  man,  "  Has  this  thing  a  heart?" 
Content  if  deeming  that  the  thing  has  beauty, 
Saying  "  I  love,"  but  not  "  Canst  thou  love  me  ?" 
Love  is  no  deity  except  when  twin-born, 

'  Sprung  from  two  hearts,  each  yearning  unto  each. 

Until  they  meet,  though  Hades  yawned  between  them. 
Thou  art  to  me  the  world's  one  man,  and  I 

For  good  or  ill,  to  thee  the  world's  one  woman.' 

This  writ,  she  took  the  tablets  to  a  youth. 
Who,  as  the  Gallic  chieftain's  buckler-bearer. 

Stood  readiest  to  his  best  at  feast  or  fight. 

And  bade  him  seek  and  give  them  to  his  master. 


The  Wife  of  Miletus.  147 

The  sun  paused  midway  between  morn  and  eve 

When  the  shield-bearer  brought  his  chieftain's  answer, 

Saying, '  I  wait  to  lead  thee  and  thy  lord 

Along  the  wastes  and  woodland  to  our  borders.' 


She,  with  a  dreadful  joy  in  this  reply. 

Cried  to  her  husband, '  Hasten  our  departure  ; 

The  Gaul  is  chafed  that  we  so  long  delay.' 
A  little  while,  and  thro'  the  mountain  gorges 

Shadowing  the  sun,  the  slow  procession  moved. 

Heading  his  chosen  guard  stalked  first  the  Chieftain ; 
Followed  the  slaves  ;  gay  Xanthus,  in  their  rear, 

Carolling  bird-like  to  his  silent  nest-mate. 

The  sun  set  reddening  as  they  reached  the  stream 

Which  would  belt  Gaul,  did  her  fierce  heart  brook  girdle  ; 

A  grassy  semicircle  stretched  between 

The  hurrying  wave  and  the  unmo\ing  forest ; 

Gray,  in  the  midst  of  that  lone  waste-land,  stood 
A  block  of  stone  rude  as  man's  earliest  altar. 

Here  paused  the  Gaul,  and  as  the  rest  grouped  round, 
One  of  the  guard  brought  to  the  chief,  as  victim, 


148  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

A  lamb  all  filleted  with  wilding  flowers, 

And  the  lamb  meekly  licked  the  hand  that  led  it. 

Then  said  the  chief  to  Xanthus,  who  drew  near 
With  a  Greek's  interest,  curious,  and  yet  scornful ; 


Slow-speaking,  that  the  guide-interpreter 

Might  make  each  sentence  clearer  to  the  stranger, 
'  When,  at  the  boundary  of  his  land,  the  Gaul 
Parts  from  the  guest  or  settles  with  the  debtor, 

'  His  law  enjoins  a  sacrifice  to  gods, 

Who  make  him  safe  thro'  strength  and  strong  thro'  honour. 
Thus  guest  or  debtor  goes  his  homeward  way 
By  holy  rites  secured  from  deadly  ambush ; 


'  Granting  that  guest  or  debtor  forfeit  not 

By  his  own  sin  our  father-land's  protection 
For  times  have  been  when  in  the  guest  himself 
The  gods  who  guard  our  borders  chose  the  victim  : 


'  My  grandsire  here  slew  one — a  smooth-tongued  Greek, 
False  to  his  host — the  accusing  voice  was  woman's : 
But  this  need  scare  not  men  revering  truth. 

Now  while  thy  slaves  complete  thy  share  of  barter, 


Tlie  Wife  of  Miletus.  149 

Which  was  of  all  thy  worldly  wealth  <he  fourth; 

Let  thy  fair  wife — restored  to  gods  of  Hellas — 
Pay  her  last  homage  to  the  gods  of  Gaul, 

And  hold  the  lamb,  which  is  the  spotless  symbol 


'  Of  hearts  that  pray  to  be  as  pure  from  guile.' 

Construing  these  words  by  her  dark  hopes,  Erippe 
Bent  o'er  the  lamb,  her  white  arm  round  its  neck ; 
Whispered  the  Gaul, '  Shall  I  not  spare  thy  husband 


'  Does  thy  heart  fail  ?     It  is  not  yet  too  late.' 

Hissed  her  voice, '  Nay,  let  him  who  parts  us  perish  ! 
Could  thy  heart  fail  thee,  mine,  at  least,  is  finii : 
This  weak  hand  strong  enough  to  strike  a  sleeper ; 

'  This  slight  foot  swift  enough  to  fly  the  dead  ; 

Spare  him  to-day — dismiss  me  ;  with  the  morrow 
I  should  regain  thy  side,  and  whisper  "  Freed  !" 
Wouldst  thou  have  courage  to  refuse  me  shelter  ?' 

To  the  still  heaven  the  Gaul  upraised  his  sword. 

And  crying, '  Gods,  this  offering  to  man's  hearthstone,' 

He  smote  :  the  lamb  ran  bleating  from  the  stone  ; 
To  Acheron  sighless  passed  a  guiltier  victim. 


1 50  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Flinging  to  Xanthus,  rooted  horror-spelled, 

The  fatal  lines  that  wooed,  and  brought  home,  murder. 

The  Doomsman  said, '  When  thy  guide  construes  these, 
Thank  him  who  saved  his  guest  from  deadly  ambush. 

'  Take  all  thy  gold.     I  have  paid  my  people  ;  how. 

Their  bards  will  teach  them  at  inviolate  hearthstones. 
Thou  hast  no  cause  to  grieve  ;  but  I — but  I, 
O  Greek,  I  loved  her  :  I  have  slain  Temptation.' 

And,  as  when,  passing  from  the  wrecks  it  doomed, 

Desolate  sets,  in  deeps  of  cloud,  Orion, 
The  grand  destroyer  went  his  way  forlorn 

Thro'  glimmering  darkness  down  barbarian  forests. 


BRIDALS 


IN 


THE    SPIRIT    LAND, 


The   original   of  this   Myth   is   to  be   found   in   Conon,  Narrat.   i8  (where 
Leonymus  is  named  Autoleon),  and  in  Pausanias,  iii.  19. 


M 


ANY  wonders  on  the  ocean 
By  the  moonhght  may  be  seen. 

Under  moonhght  on  the  Euxine 
Rose  the  blessed  silver  Isle, 

As  Leonymus  of  Croton, 
At  the  Pythian  god's  behest, 

Steered  along  the  troubled  waters 
To  the  tranquil  Spirit-land. 

In  the  earthquake  of  the  battle, 
When  the  Locrians  reeled  before 

Croton's  shock  of  marching  iron, 
Strode  a  phantom  to  their  van. 

'Twas  the  shade  of  Locrian  Ajax, 
Guarding  still  the  native  soil ; 

And  Leonymus,  confronting, 
Wounded,  fell  before  the  spear. 

G   2 


154  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Leech  and  herb  the  wound  could  heal  not. 

Said  the  Pythian  god, '  Depart ; 
Voyage  o'er  the  troubled  Euxine 

To  the  tranquil  Spirit-land  ; 


'  There  abides  the  Locrian  Ajax  ; 
He  who  gave  the  wound  can  heal  : 
God-like  souls  are  in  their  mercy 
Stronger  yet  than  in  their  wratli.' 

White  it  rose  on  lulled  waters, 
Rose  the  blessed  silver  Isle  ; 

Purple  vines  in  lengthened  vistas 
Knit  the  hill-top  to  the  beach  ; 

And  the  beach  had  sparry  caverns, 
And  a  floor  of  golden  sands  ; 

And  wherever  soared  the  cypress, 
Underneath  it  bloomed  the  rose. 

Glimmered  there  amid  the  vine-leaves, 
Thoro'  cavern,  over  beach. 

Life-like  shadows  of  a  beauty 

Which  the  li\'ing  know  no  more  ; 


Bridals  in  the  Spirit  Land.  155 

Towery  statures  of  great  heroes, 

They  who  fought  at  Thebes  and  Troy  ; 

And,  with  looks  that  poets  dream  of, 
Beamed  the  women  heroes  loved. 


Stately  out  before  their  comrades, 
As  the  vessel  touched  the  shore, 

Came  the  stateliest  two,  by  Hpnen 
Ever  hallowed  into  one. 


As  He  strode,  the  forest  trembled 
To  the  awe  that  crown'd  his  brow  ; 

As  She  stepped,  the  ocean  dimpled 
To  the  ray  that  left  her  smile. 

'  Fearless  warrior,  welcome  hither !' 
Said  a  voice  in  which  there  slept 
Thunder-sounds  to  scatter  armies 
As  a  north-wind  scatters  leaves. 

'  Wounded  sufferer,  welcome  hither !' 
Said  a  voice  of  music,  low 
As  the  coo  of  doves  that  nestle 
Under  summer  boughs  at  noon. 


156  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Who  are  ye,  O  shapes  of  glory  ?' 
He,  the  Hero-Ghost,  replied, 

'  She  is  Helen,  I  Achilles, 

In  the  Spirit-land  espoused.' 


'  Low  I  kneel  to  thee,  Pelides  ; 
But,  O  marvel,  she  thy  bride. 
She  whose  guilt  unpeopled  Hellas, 

She  whose  marriage  lights  fired  Troy !' 

Frowned  the  large  fi-ont  of  Achilles, 
Casting  shadow  o'er  the  place. 

As  the  sunlight  fades  from  Tempi>, 
^Vhen  on  Ossa  hangs  a  storm. 

'  Know,  thou  dullard,'  said  Pelides, 
'  That  on  the  funeral  pyre 
Earthly  sins  are  purged  from  glory. 
And  the  Soul  is  as  the  Name. 


'  If  to  her  in  life  a  Paris, 
If  to  me  in  life  a  slave, 
Helen's  mate  is  here  Achilles- 
Mine  the  Sister  of  the  Stars. 


Bridals  in  the  Spirit  Land.  157 

*  Nought  of  her  survives  but  beauty, 
Nought  of  me  survives  but  fame  ; 
Fame  and  Beauty  wed  together 
In  the  isle  of  happy  souls.' 


O'er  the  foam  of  warring  billows 
Silver-chimed  the  choral  song, 
'  Fame  and  Beauty  wed  for  ever 
In  the  isle  of  happy  souls.' 

'  Wounded  sufferer,  welcome  hither, 

Thou  hast  reached  us,  thou  art  cured  ; 
Healed  is  every  wound  of  mortal 
In  the  isle  of  happy  souls.' 

O'er  the  gloom  of  moaning  waters 
Soft  and  softer  chimed  the  song, 
'  Healed  is  every  wound  of  mortal 
In  the  isle  of  happy  souls.' 


CYDIPPE 


OR, 


THE     APPLE. 


The  very  beautiful  legend  of  '  Cydippe  and  the  Apple'  was  a  favourite  with 
both  Greek  and  Latin  writers.  Callimachus  wrote  a  poem  (now  lost)  called 
'  Cydippe,'  and  we  still  retain  the  Epistles  between  Acontius  and  Cydippe  in  the 
Heroides  of  Ovid,  though  whether  Ovid  himself  composed  them  is  a  matter  of 
some  dispute.  Scaliger  assigns  their  authorship  to  Sabinus,  a  contemporary  and 
friend  of  Ovid's.  In  our  own  day,  the  main  incident  of  the  subject  has  been 
treated  by  Mr.  Charles  Kent,  in  hexameter  verses  rich  with  exquisite  imagery 
and  beauties  of  poetic  expression.  (See  'The  Golden  Apple,'  in  the  charming 
volume  of  poems  by  Charles  Kent,  entitled  '  Aletheia  ;  or.  The  Doom  of  Mythol- 
ogy.') In  the  more  matter  of  fact  mode  in  which  the  legend  is  here  told,  the 
original  plot  has  been  somew-hat  amplified,  and  the  vengeance  of  Artemis  ex- 
tended from  Cydippe  to  her  father  and  one  of  her  suitors. 


AIREST  and  hardiest  of  the  youths  in  Ceos 
Flourished  Acontius  free  from  love's  sweet  trouble, 
Pure  as  when  first  a  child,  in  her  child-chorus. 
Chanting  the  goddess  of  the  silver  bow. 

Him  silent  rocks  and  shadowy  glens  delighted, 
Where  the  roe  fled  into  the  realm  of  eagles, 
Or  where  the  red  eye  of  the  lurking  wild-boar 

Gleamed  thro'  some  crevice  in  dense  forest  leaves. 

'  Son,'  thus  his  father,  widowed  long,  and  aged. 
Mournfully  said, '  The  young  are  never  lonely  ; 
Solitude's  self  to  them  is  a  boon  comrade  ; 
Lone  are  the  aged ;  lone  amid  the  crowd, 

'  Loneliest  when  brooding  o'er  a  silent  hearthstone 
Vacant  of  prattlers  coaxing  back  to  laughter  : 
Toys  to  the  graybeard  are  his  children's  children  ; 
They  are  to  age,  my  son,  as  hopes  to  youth. 


1 62  Lost   Talcs  of  Miletus. 

'  Choose,  then,  a  bride  whom  I  may  call  a  daughter. 
And  in  her  infants  let  me  find  companions. 
Life  hurries  on  to  meet  the  point  it  sprung  from  ; 
Youth  starts  from  infancy  and  age  returns.' 

Moved  much,  Acontius  heard,  and  said  submissive  : 
'  Thy  will  my  law  shall  ever  be,  O  father. 
But  as  my  childhood  served  the  solemn  goddess, 
Haunting  lone  souls  estranged  from  human  love, 

'  And  she,  since  then,  has  made  the  smile  of  woman 
Fall  on  my  heart  as  falls  on  snow  the  moonbeam, 
So  the  great  Queen  herself  must  lift  the  shadow 
Cast  by  her  marble  image  o'er  my  life. 

'  Go  will  I  straight  with  offerings  to  her  temple. 
Praying  her  leave  to  make  thy  home  less  lonely.' 
Gently  he  kissed  the  old  man's  bended  forehead, 
Quitting  the  threshold  with  reluctant  steps. 

And  the  next  day  he  stood  before  the  father, 
Saying, '  The  goddess,  thro'  her  priest,  our  kinsman, 
Gives  me  this  riddle,  baffling  my  dull  reason  ; 
Wisdom  is  thine,  my  father  ;  read  and  solve.' 


Cydippe ;   or.  The  Apple.  163 

'  There,'  read  the  father, '  where  her  shrine  is  chastest, 
Artemis  orders  him  who  would  forsake  her. 
This  is  no  riddle,'  said  the  old  man,  sadly ; 
'  Artemis  dooms  thee  to  some  Northern  shrine, 


'  ^Vhere  to  her  priesthoods  marriage  rites  are  sinful. 
Patience  !     The  gods  are  of  all  joy  the  givers  ; 
And  by  the  side  of  Sorrow,  when  they  send  her, 
Place  Resignation  !     Child,  *  will  not  grieve  !' 

Tears  on  his  eyelids,  from  the  old  man's  presence 
Went  the  son,  wandering  listless  toward  the  sea-shore  ; 
Nearing  the  city-gates,  quick  crowds  swept  by  him  : 
'  Whither  so  fast  ?'  he  asked  of  one  he  knew, 

'  Whither,  Acontius  ?     Yonder,  to  the  haven, 
Ere  our  State  galley  sail  to  wealthy  Delos. 
Why  art  not  thou  on  board  ?'     '  I  am  no  merchant : 
What  to  me  Delos  ?  not  a  wild-boar  there  !' 


'  Dullard,  forget'st  thou  the  blithe  yearly  feast-days., 
Honouring  the  Delian  deities  ;  Apollo, 
And  the  great  Artemis,  who  holds  her  eldest 
Shrine,  and  her  chastest,  in  her  natal  isle  ?' 


164  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Started  Acontius,  and  his  breath  came  quickly. 
'  Thanks  ;  for  thy  words  remind  me  of  a  duty ; 
Haste  we ;  I  hear  the  music  giving  signal 

Of  the  raised  anchor.     Friend,  when  I  am  gone, 


'  Seek  thou  my  father  ;  say  why  I  am  absent ; 
Chefer  him  :  stay — bid  him  broach  his  oldest  Chian, 
And — thou  and  1  were  playmates  in  our  childhood — 
Drink  to  my  health ;  the  old  man  then  will  share !' 

Promised  the  other ;  he  loved  well  Acontius — 
All  men  in  Ceos  loved  the  hunter's  father. 
Talking  thus  as  they  went,  behold,  the  haven. 
And  the  sun  glittering  on  the  festive  ship 

Rainbowed  from  prow  to  stern  with  votive  garlands. 
In  sprang  the  hunter  ;  blithe  began  the  boat-song  ; 
Freighted  with  youth  and  garland-blooms,  the  galley 
Slided  from  land  adown  the  glassy  sea. 

Gaining  the  shores  of  consecrated  Delos, 

Port,  mart,  and  street  seem'd  vocal  with  all  Hellas, 

And  the  whole  city,  as  one  mighty  altar, 

Breathed  with  Greek  melodies  and  Syrian  balms. 


Cydippe;  or.  The  Apple.  165 

Wistful  the  hunter  eyed  the  long  procession, 
Solemn  with  delegates  from  troubled  cities, 
Bearing  those  gifts  by  which  a  State  in  peril 
Deems  it  wise  piety  to  bribe  the  gods. 


'  Not  now  at  midday,'  inly  said  Acontius, 
'  Merged  in  grand  embassies  of  tribes  and  races 
To  the  Queen-goddess,  can  I  hope  her  favour 
For  the  petition  of  one  humble  man. 

'  Therefore,  since  unprepared  I  came  from  Ceos, 
Will  I,  this  eve,  buy  white  robes  and  feast-ofif'rings, 
Spend  night  in  prayer,  unroofed  beneath  the  moonlight, 
And  ere  the  city,  from  the  leaden  sleep 

'  Following  long  revel,  opens  drowsy  lids, 
Will  I  be  first  at  dawn  to  seek  the  goddess, 
Waiting  not  till  the  din  of  countless  suitors 
Tire  ev'n  the  patience  of  celestial  ears.' 


Quitting  the  crowd  that  poured  into  the  temple. 
All  that  bright  feast-day,  strayed  the  simple  hunter, 
Lone  by  the  sea-shore,  till  in  rosy  t\vilight 
Melted  the  outlines  vague  of  wave  and  sky  : 


1 66  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Pale  from  the  altar  rose  the  last  thin  vapour, 
Evening's  gay  banquet  closing  day's  grave  worship  ; 
Still  the  wide  mart  stood  open  for  all  stragglers ; 
Barber-shops  loud  with  the  last  moment's  news  ; 


Wine-booths  _,  stalls  gay  with  wares  for  every  stranger, 
Gifts  for  his  gods  or  playthings  for  his  infants  ; 
Singing  girls  skilled  in  songs  for  every  lover ; 
Tale-tellers  moving  laughter,  sometimes  tears ; 

Vagrant  diviners  known  not  to  Apollo, 
Promising  riches  unrevealed  to  Plutus  ; 
Swarthy  barbarians — ^thiop,  Mede,  Egyptian, 
Yellow-haired  Celt  from  Hyperborean  seas, 

Attica's  parasite  and  Thracia's  robber 
All  seeking  gain  or  pleasure — blessed  the  temple, 
Which  now  in  silence,  seen  above  the  roof-tops, 
Rose,  the  calm  well-head  of  the  noisy  mart. 

Tall  thro'  the  press  broad-shouldered  moved  the  hunter. 
And,  'mid  the  stalls  singling  a  face  that  pleased  him. 
Bought  the  things  needful  for  his  simple  ofif'rings. 
Quoth  she  who  served  him,  from  the  Naxian  isle 


Cydippe ;   or.  The  Apple.  167 

Laughing-eyed  good-wife, '  Comely-visaged  stranger, 
Take  thou  this  fruit,  the  fairest  in  my  orchard  ; 
And  may  the  cheek  of  her  to  whom  it  passes 
Glow  with  a  blush  yet  warmer  than  the  fruit's.' 


Smiling,  the  hunter  sighed,  and  took  the  apple, 
Gift  which  the  Greek  gives  her  he  deems  the  fairest. 
Then,  where  serene  in  starlight  rose  the  temple, 
Upward  he  went,  and  left  the  mart  below. 

In  the  hushed  grove  around  the  sacred  columns, 
All  the  night  long  he  watched  the  silvery  tree-tops 
Opening  still  pathways  to  the  moon  ;  till  faintly 

Through  the  leaves  sighing  crept  the  winds  of  dawn  ; 

Reddened  the  hazy  sea ;  a  golden  glimmer 
Shot  from  day's  car  and  woke  the  lark ;  Narcissus 
Lifted  his  dew-gemmed  coronal  of  clusters  ; 
Shy  peered  the  lizard  from  the  crannied  wall. 

Now  from  within  the  fane  rose  choral  voices. 
Hymning  the  advent  of  the  world's  joy-bringer  ; 
Now  up  the  sacred  stairs  went  slow  the  hunter ; 
Now  with  innumerous  torches  on  his  sight, 


1 68  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Column  on  column  lengthening,  blazed  the  temple, 
Life-like,  thus  seen,  stood  out  the  marble  goddess, 
Beauteous  in  scorn  as  when  she  slew  Orion. 

First  with  due  care  besprinkling  breast  and  hands 


From  the  lustrating  font  within  the  entrance, 
Murmunng  low  prayer  Acontius  neared  the  altar. 
Rendering  his  bloodless  sacrifice — pure  flour-cakes. 
Shapes  wrought  in  wax  of  lion  and  of  stag, 


Poppy  wreaths  blushing  round  a  stem  of  olive. 
Homage  thus  paid,  awhile  he  lingered,  gazing 
On  the  stern  beauty  of  the  solemn  goddess  ; 
Reverently  then  he  turned  him  to  depart. 

Lo,  midway  in  the  aisle — her  nurse  before  her 
Mother-like  walking — came  a  youthful  virgin 
Bearing  white  garlands,  as  when,  led  by  Winter, 

Comes  the  fresh  Spring-morn  bringing  earliest  flowers. 

Quiet  and  slow,  with  modest  eyes  cast  downward, 
Noting  the  hunter  not,  she  glided  by  him  ; 
Silent  she  took  her  place  beside  the  altar. 
Brightening  its  flame  with  balms  from  Araby 


Cydippe ;   or.  The  Apple.  169 

And  the  reflected  light  of  her  own  beauty ; 
And  at  the  first  sight  of  that  stranger  maiden 
Leapt  the  youth's  heart,  and  from  it  the  cold  goddess 
Lifted  the  shadow  since  his  childhood  cast. 


As  in  closed  chambers  suddenly  flung  open 
Rushes  the  light,  rushes  the  golden  splendour, 
All  his  frame  thrilled  with  a  celestial  glory, 
And  to  himself  he  murmured  'This  is  love.' 

Quickly,  as  by  some  inward  voice  instructed. 
No  other  votaries  sharing  yet  the  temple, 
While  she,  unheeding  aught  beyond  the  altar, 
Over  her  offering  bent  her  looks  devout. 

He,  with  his  hunter's  knife,  carved  on  the  apple 
Letters  clear-scored ;  and,  screened  behind  a  column, 
Into  the  maiden's  lap  he  cast  that  token 

AVhich  tlie  Greek  gives  to  her  he  deems  most  fair. 

Startled,  the  girl  looked  round,  nor  saw  the  hunter, 
And,  wonder-stricken,  asked  the  nurse  in  whisper, 
'  What  can  this  mean  ?  whence  comes  it  ?'   Quoth  the  woman, 
Puzzled  and  curious,- '  Nay,  I  cannot  guess. 

H 


170  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Are  there  not  letters?     Read  thou  what  is  written.' 
So  the  girl  read  these  words  :  '  I,  at  the  altar 
Artemis  hallows,  vov/  to  wed  Acontius.' 
With  the  sweet  blush  of  angiy  innocence, 


Scornful  the  maiden  cast  away  the  apple  ; 
But,  tho'  in  whisper  she  the  words  had  spoken, 
Heard  by  the  Cean,  heard  by  the  great  goddess. 
'Joy !'  said  the  lover,  suddenly  grown  bold  ; 

*  Gold-throned  Artemis,  to  thee  unerring 
Trust  I  the  rest ;  the  vow  is  in  thy  keeping.' 
When  the  girl,  down-eyed  as  before,  departed. 
He,  through  the  city,  followed  on  her  way. 

Mute,  and  unmarked,  and  faithful  as  her  shadow. 
Till  her  light  footfall  on  the  parent-threshold 
Left  its  last  music.     Learning  from  the  neighbours 
All  that  he  asked,  her  parentage  and  name, 

Longer  the  Cean  tarried  not  in  Delos  ; 
Took  a  light  boat,  recrossed  the  sunny  waters, 
And,  his  home  reaching,  greeted  thus  his  father : 
'  Make  the  house  ready  to  receive  a  bride, 


Cydippe ;   or.  The  Apple.  171 

'  For  she  is  found :  thy  hearth  shall  not  be  lonely.' 
And  so,  tho',  waking  or  in  sleep,  re-haunted 
By  that  sweet  face,  he  trusted  to  the  goddess, 
Strong  in  the  patience  which  is  born  of  hope. 


This  blooming  maid  of  Delos,  named  Cydippe, 
Was  the  sole  child  of  Megacles,  the  Archon  ; 
Courted  by  many,  but  to  all  yet  heart-whole ; 
Now  from  the  suitors  making  his  own  choice, 

Megacles  singled  the  great  merchant,  Chremes  ; 
She,  in  whose  mind  the  vow  was  as  a  circle 
Traced  in  calm  water  by  the  halcyon  dipping, 
Child  in  submission  to  her  father's  will, 

Neither  inclined,  nor  yet  averse,  consented ; 
When,  but  three  days  before  the  appointed  bridals, 
Wondered  the  nurse  that  yet  Cydippe  slumbered 
While  not  a  dewdrop  lingered  on  the  rose ; 

Nearing  the  couch,  she  shrieked  aloud  in  terror : 

Colourless,  calmly  rigid,  lay  the  maiden, 

As  if  not  sleep,  but  sleep's  more  awful  brother 

With  the  quenched  torch,  reigned  stern  in  that  repose. 


1 72  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Locked  in  this  trance,  only  by  breath  the  faintest 
Showing  a  soul  not  vanished  from  the  sunlight, 
Lay  she  for  weeks,  as  if  on  life's  last  border 
Touching  the  silent  shadow-land  beyond. 

Said  the  cold  merchant  to  the  grieving  father, 
'  Pardon  me,  friend,  a  wife  is  the  house-mistress ; 
111  fares  the  house  if  she  indulge  in  trances. 
Give  back  my  love-gifts  and  annul  the  bond.' 

Proudly  the  Archon  smiled  and  tore  the  contract. 
Chremes  soon  found  a  bride  with  fits  less  quiet ; 
Then  from  her  trance,  fresh  as  from  wonted  slumber, 
Bloomed  out  the  maid,  and  stood  amid  the  flowers. 

Megacles  now,  sore-smarting  at  the  insult 
Put  on  his  child  by  the  coarse-thoughted  merchant, 
Out  from  her  suitors  chose  a  grand  Eupatrid, 
Grave  as  an  Ephor  schooling  Spartan  kings ; 

Scorning  mankind  as  sprung  from  bone  and  sinew. 
While  from  the  stones  with  which  Deucalion  peopled 
Thessaly's  mud-banks,  after  the  great  deluge, 
Vaunting  his  antique  petrified  descent. 


Cydippe ;   or.  The  Apple.  173 

Still  from  the  rock  itself  will  grow  the  blossom ; 
One  clay  the  stone-born  chanced  to  see  Cydippe, 
And  in  some  fissure  of  that  flinty  bosom, 
Love  found  an  opening  for  his  thorny  rose. 


Just  as  before,  averse  not  nor  inclining, 
Pleased  with  the  love-gifts,  heeding  not  the  giver, 
Pious  Cydippe  passively  consented, 
Child  in  submission  to  her  father's  will. 


Lo  now  reversed  the  mystic  visitation  ! 
Her  the  trance  spared  and  settled  on  the  suitor ; 
Nine  drowsy  days  the  Eupatrid  lay  as  stone-like 
As  his  first  father  ere  transformed  to  man. 


When  he  returned  to  consciousness  and  reason, 
Thus  to  the  Archon  bending  o'er  his  pillow 
Gravely  he  whispered, '  I  have  been  in  Hades, 
Sojourning  there  with  the  majestic  ghost 

'  Of  my  line's  founder,  the  Thessalian  pebble. 
And  he  forbade  me — but  his  words  are  sacred  °, 
Pity  my  fate  ;  I  dare  not  wed  thy  daughter. 
Keep  thou  my  love-gifts  and  annul  the  bond.' 


1 74  Lost  Tales  of  Milettis. 

Homeward  returning,  Megacles  self-communed, 
Muttering, '  Some  god  is  mixed  up  in  this  matter. 
Twice  may  my  choice  have  angered  Aphrodite. 
Is  not  my  daughter  beautiful  and  young  ? 


'  Should  not  her  proper  mate  be  youth  and  beauty  ? 
Squint-eyed  the  merchant ;  gray  the  stone-descended  ; 
Like  unto  like  !  had  Helen  married  Paris, 

She  had  been  chaste,  and  Troy  be  standing  now.' 

So  his  choice  settled  soon  upon  Callistus, 
Slender  as  Hermes,  blooming  as  Apollo. 
Never,  since  Paris,  with  a  blander  aspect 

Guest  at  man's  hearthstone  left  behind  him  woe. 

'  Surely  this  choice  will  please  thee,  Aphrodite,' 
Megacles  said, '  And  here  will  be  no  trances.' 
Neither  inclining  nor  averse,  Cydippe,. 
Child  in  submission  to  her  father's  will, 

Glanced  at  her  fair-faced  suitor,  and  consented. 
But,  O  the  marvel !  now  it  was  the  father 
Whom  the  strange  torpor  wrapped  from  golden  daylight 
Nine  dreary  weeks,  where  life's  last  border  touched 


Cydippe ;   or,  The  Apple.  175 

On  the  dim  shadow-land,  he  lay  unmoving. 
Goaded  by  debt,  and  pining  for  a  dowry, 
Thus  to  the  maid  said  elegant  Callistus  : 

*  All  men  are  mortal — thy  good  father's  dead  3 


'  Motionless,  speechless,  eating  not  nor  drinking ; 
Weeping  I  say  it,  no  man  can  be  deader ; 
Sinful  it  is  to  keep  him  still  unburied. 

Staying  from  Fields  of  Asphodel  his  ghost. 

'  Let  thy  soft  heart  dismiss  too  pious  scruples. 
Mourn  for  thy  father — place  him  on  the  death-pyre, 
Hastening  the  moment  when,  extinct  his  ashes, 
Love  may  to  Hymen  dedicate  the  torch.' 

Stern  looked  the  girl,  till  then  so  meek  ;  replying, 
*  Get  thee  gone,  counsellor  of  household  murder.' 
Thus  for  the  third  time  Artemis  preseiTed  her 
Faithfully  true  to  the  forgotten  vow. 

Now  the  strange  story  of  these  three  strange  trances 
Lip  to  lip  flew  thro'  wonder-loving  Hellas, 
And  at  the  Archon's  door,  one  noon  in  summer, 
Knocking,  a  stranger  slow  admittance  found. 


1 76  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

Led  by  a  house-slave  to  Cydippe's  presence, 
Thus,  with  grave  aspect,  he  addressed  the  maiden 
'  Daughter  of  Megacles,  I,  Greek,  though  stranger, 
Come,  a  disciple  of  the  healing  god, 


*  Pledging  my  head  to  free  thy  father's  spirit 
From  the  dread  sleep  which  drags  it  on  to  Lethe, 
Grant  me  but  leave  to  see  him.'     Slowly  lifting 
Sorrowful  lids,  she  gazed  upon  a  brow 

Seeming,  she  thought,  the  throne  of  modest  candour. 
Trustful  she  said, '  The  gods  confirm  thy  promise  !' 
Leading  him  straight  into  her  father's  chamber. 
O'er  the  death-sleep  the  stranger  bent  a  while  ; 


Taking  the  hand,  thrice  breathing  on  the  eyelids. 
Softly  he  whispered, '  Soul,  that  thro'  the  slumber 
Still  lives  the  same,  as  when,  from  sight  evanished. 
Moves  not  the  less  thro'  sunlit  space  a  star, 

■  What  is  the  Power  that  weighs  thee  to  the  shadows 
With  the  dire  load  of  some  diviner  anger  ? 
Speak,  who  the  God,  and  what  the  expiation  ?' 
Murmured  the  slumberer  through  unmoving  lips. 


Cydippe ;   or.  The  Apple.  177 

*  Artemis  smites  me  ;  wherefore,  ask  Apollo.' 
Silence  resettled  on  the  lips  unmoving ; 
Then  to  Cydippe,  turning,  asked  the  stranger, 
'  Is  it  thy  will  that  I  these  words  obey  ?' 

'  Blest  be  thy  coming,'  she  sobbed  forth.     '  O  hasten  ; 
Hear  I  thy  voice  again,  O  father,  father  !' 
Slow  from  her  presence  passed  away  the  stranger, 
Passed  into  sunlight,  leaving  her  in  prayer  ; 


And,  with  her  nurse  and  others  of  the  household, 
Went  with  peace-offerings  to  Apollo's  temple. 
And,  when  the  sacred  oracle  had  answered. 
Led  the  procession  back  to  that  still  couch. 

'  Comfort !'  he  said,  and  smiled,  to  the  good  daughter  ; 
Over  the  sleeper  then  he  lighdy  sprinkled 
Drops  from  Apollo's  font,  imbibed  by  verA'ain, 
And  the  lids  opened,  and  the  man  sate  up  ; 

Wonderingly  stared  on  kneeling  forms  around  him, 
Wonderingly  heard  a  choir  of  household  voices, 
'  Praise  to  the  healing-god  !   our  master  liveth : 
'  Praise  to  Apollo  !'     '  To  Apollo,  praise  !' 

H  2 


1 78  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  Praise  too  his  huntress-sister,'  said  the  stranger, 
'  Guardian  with  him  of  consecrated  Delos  : 
Learn,  noble  Megacles,  and  tliou,  Cydippe, 
Wherefore  the  anger  of  the  Delian  Powers. 


'  Thus  saith  the  Oracle — those  kneeling  round  thee 
Heard  it,  O  Archon — "  Are  not  all  vows  holy  ? 
Did  not  Cydippe  vow  to  wed  Acontius, 
And  at  the  solemn  shrine  of  Artemis  ?" ' 


Suddenly  then  the  fatal  words,  forgotten 
As  a  dream's  fragments,  started  up  accusing 
On  the  girl's  mind  ;  mute  to  her  father's  questions. 
Cowering  she  stood,  bowed  down  by  grief  and  shame. 

Pained  for  her  darling,  out  the  nurse  spoke  shrill-tongued, 
'  Guikless  the  girl,  but  criminal  the  apple — ' 
*  Peace  !'  cried  the  Archon  ;  '  who  is  this  Acontius  ?' 
Answered  the  stranger,  ''Well-born,  young,  a  Cean ; 

'  With  but  one  merit — that  he  loves  thy  daughter, 

Loved  her  at  first  sight — Artemis  so  willed  it.' 
'  Bow  we  to  Artemis  !'  exclaimed  the  father; 
'  Quick,  and  to  Ceos  send  the  swiftest  ship. 


Cydippe;   or.  The  Apple.  179 

'  Tarry  here,  stranger ;  welcome  at  this  hearthstone. 
Hast  thou  not  saved  its  owner  from  the  Shadows  ? 
Tarry  at  least  till  comes  the  eager  bridegroom ; 
Fathers  are  safe  not  till  their  daughters  wed.' 


Tarried  the  stranger,  golden  days  of  summer  : 
Daily  and  hourly,  darker  yet  and  darker. 
Standing  between  the  girl  and  daylight,  Sorrow. 
She  who  till  then  had  to  her  father's  will. 

Child  in  submission,  bent  without  a  murmur. 
Inly  rebelling,  loathed  these  fated  bridals, 
Never  so  galled  as  when  she  heard  the  stranger 
Palliate  the  guile  which  had  ensnared  her  vow. 

Stifling  her  wrath,  she  marked  his  tranquil  aspect 
When  the  slaves  decked  the  walls  with  nuptial  garlands ; 
And  while  she  marked,  his  eyes  her  own  were  seeking. 
Seeking  there  light  the  sun  could  not  bestow. 

Late  on  the  night  before  the  dreaded  morning 
Fixed  for  the  coming  of  the  hated  bridegroom. 
Bold  in  despair  she  knelt  before  her  father, 

Weepingly  knelt,  and  faltered  forth  these  words  : 


l8o  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

'  If  my  lost  mother  loved  thee,  if  from  childhood 
I  have  obeyed  and  honoured  thee,  O  father. 
Hear  me,  nor  slay  vdth  these  detested  bridals. 
Rather  O  let  me  the  cold  goddess  seiTe 


*  All  my  life  long,  as  her  pure  virgin  priestess, 
So  may  she  free  me  from  a  vow  less  sinful 
Broken,  than  kept  abhorring  him  who  snared  it. 
Never  can  love  dwell  between  me  and  fraud.' 

'  Hold,'  cried  the  Archon  ;  *  nor  incense  a  goddess 
Who  into  Hades  can  entrance  thy  father ; 
Rail  not  at  fraud  ;  all  maidens  pray  for  lovers, 
Warned  tho'  they  be  that  love  itself  is  fraud.' 

Back  to  her  chamber  crept  the  girl  heart-broken, 
Sate  in  the  dark  and  moaned  herself  to  slumber. 
Gaily  the  ship,  at  morn,  rode  in  the  haven, 
Flute  and  fife  chiming  to  the  dip  of  oars ; 

And  the  old,  kind-faced  father  of  the  bridesfroom. 
Heading  a  train  of  friends  and  slaves  gift-bearing, 
Came  to  the  house,  where  Megacles  received  him, 
Standing  at  doorposts  garlanded  with  rose. 


Cydippe :   or,  The  Apple.  i8i 

Friendly  the  old  men  talked  and  laughed  together  • 
Side  by  side  marching  came  they  to  Cydippe  : 
Where  was  Acontius  ?  where  the  guileful  lover  ? 
Where,  too,  the  stranger,  absent  since  the  dawn  ? 


Veiled  was  the  girl ;  the  bridal  wreath  of  myrtle 
Rent  from  her  brow  beneath  her  feet  lay  trampled  ; 
Hidden  her  face,  yet  visible  her  anguish. 
Bride  with  the  myrtle  trampled  under  foot. 

Look,  maiden,  look  !  what  image  kneels  before  thee  ? 
Hear,  maiden,  hear !  what  voice  recalls  thy  blushes  ? 
'  I  am  Acontius,  whom  thou  hast  so  hated — 
lam  the  stranger  ;  is  he  hated  too  ? 

'  Snare  for  thy  hand  sufficed  not  to  my  treason  ; 
And  in  thy  heart  I  set  the  snare  for  pardon ; 
Here  have  I  failed  ?  if  so,  thou  hast  thy  freedom  ;    , 
I  can  release  thee,  maiden — I  can  die.' 

Bending  she  took  up  and  replaced  the  myrtle. 
Not  with  the  right  hand  ;  that  in  his  was  resting  ; 
And  as,  heard  never  save  by  gods  and  lovers, 
Heart  answers  heart,  she  answered,  yet  was  mute. 


1 82  Lost  Tales  of  Miletus. 

So  with  melodious  hymnings  to  the  temple 
Went  the  procession";  and  in  after  ages 
This  story  passed  into  a  strain  of  music 
Set  for  sweet  singers,  and  to  Lesbian  lutes. 


Youth,  may'st  thou  ever  at  the  chastest  altar 
Fix  thy  heart's  choice  on  her  thou  deem'st  the  fairest, 
And  may  the  goddess  ever  keep  unbroken 
Vows  on  the  apple  read  by  virgins  there. 


THE    END. 


Q 


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